


as the crow flies

by segmentcalled



Series: bright day will turn to night [1]
Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anxiety, Background Relationships, Coming Out, Communication, Complicated Relationships, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Drinking, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Making Out, Moving, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Platonic Relationships, Puns as Foreshadowing, Road Trips, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Tags Contain Spoilers, Texting, Too many video game references, Typical Millennial Nihilism, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: New York City, as it turns out, wasn't the place to be.Patrick Gill, thirty years old, moves to the middle of nowhere after only one ill-fated year in NYC. Now he has to find his footing in a new place, with an entirely new cast of people, while trying to somehow come to grips with the myriad ways his life has recently completely changed. Like, okay, yeah, things could probably be worse. But it's not exactly fun to be left alone in the woods with your dreams dissipating from the palm of your hand like so much mist.In other words:Uuuuggghhhhhh.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _as time draws near, my dearest dear, when you and i must part,_   
>  _how little you know of the grief and woe in my poor aching heart._   
>  _‘tis but i suffer for your sake; believe me dear that's true._   
>  _i wish that you were staying here, or i was going with you._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _i wish my breast were made of glass, wherein you might behold_  
>  _upon my heart your name lies, wrote in letters made of gold._  
>  _in letters made of gold, my love, believe me when i say:_  
>  _you are the one that loves my heart until my dying day._
> 
>  
> 
> _the blackest crow that ever flew would surely turn to white_  
>  _if ever i prove false to you; bright day would turn to night._  
>  _bright day will turn to night, my love, the elements will mourn._  
>  _if ever i prove false to you the seas would rage and burn._
> 
>  
> 
> \- [_the blackest crow_ , red tail ring](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4wRnDa7GdzQ)

New York City, as it turns out, wasn’t the place to be.

It’s fine. It was fine. He left on good terms — mostly — and Legs still texts him, occasionally, like she actually gives a fuck if he drops off the edge of the earth. That’s fine, too. She’s nice. He appreciates the thought, even if she doesn’t mean it.

It’s just. Disappointing. That he couldn’t hack it, couldn’t afford the apartment, couldn’t find a new roommate, couldn’t fucking stay ‘cause he couldn’t keep up with the stupid cost of living in the city and they wouldn’t give him a raise, so — 

So he’s back in Maine.

But not home. He’d rather die, probably, than move back into his parents’ house at thirty years old. For the second time in his adult life. And he’s always sort of daydreamed about a place in the trees, by the water. And it would be a fitting contrast to the city.

And, well, turns out moving into an old cabin in the woods downeast that’s a real pain in the ass to get to and too far out of the nearest town by car to be convenient is… considerably more affordable than his monthly rent was in his old apartment. Besides, he’s got forms of transit that’ll make that commute easier.

 

It’s fucking _quiet,_ though. His first few weeks are filled with repairs, with unpacking and setting things up. Trying to find a way to sleep without the roar of cars (he downloads an audio of rain sounds and plays it on a loop) and trying to figure out how to get the TV hooked up in his bedroom to even get the local stations (he doesn’t, and keeps it in the living room) and realizing his alternative modes of transit didn’t factor in returning with his groceries (he has to turn around and go back before he even gets inside the store).

So it’s a work in progress.

But he has internet, mostly, if it’s not storming or too windy, and he has phone service a hair more reliably than that, so he’s not entirely cut off from the world unless he wants to be.

And he kind of wants to be.

Except his main income source, at the moment, is his Twitch streams, and he already took long enough off that things are real tight, and he’s applying frantically for freelance shit, and whatever the fuck else he’s remotely qualified for that’ll take him working remotely, and he hardly gets so much as a form rejection email back. So he grits his teeth and puts up a new streaming schedule. The Discord server is excited to hear he’s coming back, but he wonders how long that’s going to last.

His chest aches, when he thinks about it too hard. He’d wanted it to work out so _badly._

But he’s a ten minute walk from the ocean, if that, and there are trees everywhere, and if nothing else it’s beautiful here.

And if he slams his laptop shut when he gets a YouTube notification and absentmindedly clicks on it and sees Thomas and Allegra laughing their asses off together, when just a couple months ago that would’ve been him there —

Well. No one needs to know that.

But he boots up _Dark Souls_ and dives back into it and makes stupid jokes for a couple hours a couple nights a week and it’s fine, he’s fine, everything’s _fine._ He sends his audience to Thomas’s streams at the end of his, but Thomas’s audience is growing exponentially as people discover him (he’s got some new video series that’s gone viral), and they end up swapping time slots so Thomas can send his audience Pat’s way, instead.

Thomas asks if he’s okay, one night, after Pat’s stream ends. He’s called him, which isn’t unusual — he likes to leave obnoxious voicemails — but Pat picks up, this time. He’s not sure why; it surprises himself as much as it seems to surprise Thomas.

“You seemed down, I dunno, like you had something on your mind,” he says.

Pat shrugs, even though Thomas can’t see him. “Just adjusting to the new place. You know how it is. It’s a big change.”

“Fair enough. We miss you here, you know. You could come visit anytime, I’m sure Legs or I could put you up for a little while.”

“If I had the money, I would,” Pat says, and isn’t sure if he means it. “Right now I’m just trying to get by.”

“Of course. Well. Offer’s open, if you want it.”

“Thanks, Thomas. I should probably get some sleep. Hell, you should too, you’ve got work in the morning.”

“Yeah, hah. At least you get to sleep in, right?”

Pat thinks about how he can’t manage to drag himself out of bed before one in the afternoon these days. How he stays up blankly scrolling through social media even though seeing all the fun cool exciting New York City things his friends are doing hits him hard in the solar plexus.

“Ha. Right. I’ll talk to you later, Thomas, okay?”

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything, alright? I’m here for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course. Bye, Pat.”

“Bye.”

 

He drops his phone on the floor next to his bed and thinks about how he would maybe like to fucking cry for a while, if he could muster the emotional fortitude for even that.

He falls asleep, instead, facedown, on top of his blankets, still in his day clothes.

 

He wakes up to the sound of rain — real rain, not his audio download, on account of he hadn’t bothered to turn it on before he passed out — and he sighs and rolls over onto his back. He reaches off the side of his bed and feels around for his phone to check the time.

Huh. He hasn’t been awake at eight in the morning since… well, since he was around other human beings regularly.

He might as well take advantage of it, at least, he figures, and drags himself off his bed. He goes through his usual morning routine: halfassed breakfast, sleepy shower, staring forlornly at himself in the mirror and acknowledging that he needs to shave and doing nothing about it, throws on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with some band’s logo on it. And then he’s not really sure what to do, because his internet’s definitely gonna be out until the rain stops.

And then he sighs, because he’s still got one more room to unpack and organize, and it’s the one he’s been dreading the most.

 

See, Patrick Gill never exactly wanted to be a witch. Gendered assumptions aside, it’s an awful lot more trouble than it’s worth, most of the time. Sure, he can turn into a crow, that’s neat, but he can’t carry his groceries home that way, and he’s not _really_ supposed to let anyone see him do it, so he can’t even show off.

If he wanted to, he could let some rumors slip out about some neat little talents he’s got, funny little tinctures or tonics that can make a cold go away or whatever. He could maybe scrape by as the local witch, riding off superstitions that he can fulfill, never confirming nor denying if it’s _actually_ real. But no one really likes a gawky, awkward thirty-year-old man in that role. His mom did it, and she pulled it off perfectly — she’s funny and smart and can balance the plausible deniability just right. Pat, though, has not inherited a gift for subtlety, and he’s never had an especially warm welcoming aura, but he’s not even mean enough to go the opposite way with it, so it’s all a wash.

So he’s got boxes of shit he’s accumulated over the years and a little office room where he’s been assembling shelves and cabinets when he’s got the motivation, but not any use for any of it. Like, great, he can soothe a panic attack pretty well with a bunch of lavender and some other knick-knacks, but he can’t get it to work on himself, and it’s not like he’s exactly keeping much company right now.

But he’s got the whole day, so he might as well unpack, at least. And then he can officially say he’s done with that, and he won’t even be lying.

He’s glad he downloaded a bunch of music, because he can hook his phone up to a speaker and set it on the desk in between some mason jars of dried herbs, and absentmindedly hum along as he works. Huh. He really hasn’t gone through this stuff in ages. He’d had it all shoved in his closet in New York — the irony of being a closeted closet witch is not lost on him — and hadn’t touched it except to move it into and out of the U-Haul.

He’s scowling at the herbs as he picks through them, annoyed that he’d let so many of them go bad — shitty storage methods and a complete negligence to give a shit will get you every time — when there’s the unmistakable sound of someone banging on his front door and he startles so hard that he drops everything in his hands and knocks half the things on the desk over for good measure.

He rushes to the door, skids to a halt before opening it, and peers through the peephole. There’s a woman outside. Her hair is long and dark brown and drenched and sticking to her face and she’s wearing a blue-green dress and a long necklace with a pendant that is shaped like a jar and no shoes and he doesn’t know what the fuck anyone is doing out here but he — well, he opens the door anyway, with only the screen door between them.

“Hi!” says the woman, cheerfully, as though it is totally normal for her to be out in this miserable fucking downpour.

“Hi?” says Pat. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, I decided to drop by ‘cause I heard there was someone living here now! I stopped by last week about this same time, but you might’ve been out, there wasn’t any answer.”

Pat is certain he was asleep, if that’s the case, but abstains from admitting this. “Yeah, probably. Uh, do you live around here?”

“Yeah, I’m like ten minutes away.” She gestures vaguely southward. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

“No — no, it’s fine, I just didn’t expect anyone. To visit. Um. Do you want to come in?” He pushes the screen door open, but she doesn’t move forward.

“That’s okay, I don’t want to track water all in your house. I made a fuckton of saltwater taffy this weekend, I found a recipe online, and I thought I’d take some over because there’s no way I can eat all of it and I wanted to bring some sort of housewarming gift besides.”

“That’s — wow, that’s sweet of you.”

She grins. “Literally.”

He groans and tries not to roll his eyes, but this only makes her laugh. She rummages through a messenger bag at her hip and produces one of those big Ziploc bags, filled with colorful individually wrapped candies, hands it over to him. “There’s a bunch of flavors, except my bro took all the strawberry ones.”

“That’s alright, I’m allergic to strawberries anyway.”

“Good! Then I don’t have to feel bad. Oh, hey, also, if you’re not busy on Fridays and you can get out to town — this is gonna sound so dorky — but there’s usually a trivia night, it’s actually a lot of fun if you’re feeling lonely out here. There’s a bunch of us that go, so I promise you wouldn’t be the only one under fifty.”

“Hm,” Pat says. “Maybe. Wait, I don’t think I got your name?”

“Oh! Sorry, god, I’m the worst,” she says, laughing at herself. She has a strange laugh, but in an infectious way. Charming, quite genuinely. It makes Pat crack a smile. “I’m Simone. De Rochefort.” French, without pronouncing the _T_ at the end. She holds out a hand for him to shake. “You?”

“Patrick Gill. Uh, just Pat is fine, though.” He accepts the handshake, comes back with his arm wet with rain to the elbow. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in? This weather’s nasty.”

“No, I should be getting home, I think! I appreciate the offer, though. It was nice to meet you. Come to the trivia night, it starts at seven, it’ll be so fun I _promise_ and you can meet everyone else around here too!”

“Alright, alright, okay,” Pat says, worn down by her enthusiasm, and she positively beams.

“I’ll see you then! Bye, Pat!”

She turns and leaves with a wave and flounces off. Her feet are bare and her legs are splashed all the way to the knees with mud and she isn’t bothered one ounce by the storm or the gravel as she disappears off down the road.

Pat closes the door and drops the bag of candy on the kitchen counter on the way back to continue unpacking. Well, if everyone else is that exuberant, then at least he’ll have a story to tell. Though he's not really sure who he'd tell it to.

 

He spends all of Friday regretting agreeing to go to this thing, but if nothing else (and, frankly, he feels like little else right now) he’s a man of his word. He throws on a flannel and jeans and even trims his beard (which was getting out of hand anyway), and walks out the back door. No one’s around — as far as he’s aware, his closest neighbor is Simone, not that he knows where her house is — but he still walks deep enough into the trees that he can’t be seen from the road.

Even in the city, he’d go around as a crow sometimes; he’d open his window a crack and then move out of sight — paranoid, but just in case — and duck down into feathers and talons and beak. He’d go out the window and fly around, explore, stretch his wings, getting a better feel of the place.

Here, he doesn’t have to worry so much about anyone seeing (or about anything getting in through his window while he’s left it open), and that’s nice because it’s fun to have a running start and jump forward and take wing in one smooth motion. It feels good, to be able to do that again. He’d almost forgotten how it felt.

He makes the executive decision to scout out the situation before dipping back into the forest and taking his human shape again. There’s a small group of people, probably all about his age, gathered together outside of a bar. One or two of them are smoking, but the others are just standing around chatting.

Simone is among the latter group and she is laughing loudly at something someone has said, grabbing the shoulder of the man next to her. There are two other women, one of whom has a sharp undercut tied up in a little ponytail, the other of whom is short with glossy black hair. The man next to Simone is tall, with purple hair and a beard; the other guys look like they could be related to him. They’ve got the same smile.

“Hey, is that a crow? Or a raven? How do you tell the difference?” says one of the other guys, who kind of looks like an accountant. Or an office worker. Or the most generic possible white guy with glasses. Like someone had taken a character creator and put all the sliders smack in the middle. Pat does his damndest to do his most ordinary bird movements, pecks at the ground a bit and struts a couple steps. He _hates_ it when people pay attention to him as a bird, because the body language does not come even sort of naturally to him. The rest of his family’s all mammals, so he never got the chance to pick any bird things up from them, and other birds don’t really love his strange mannerisms.

“I saw a post somewhere that was like, if you see a bird and you’re like, _oh is that a raven?_ it’s probably a crow. But if you’re like _oh fuck that bird is huge!_ then it’s probably a raven,” says the woman with the undercut.

“Huh. Probably a crow then. Kinda cool.”

Pat takes off, after this, and flies out deeper into the woods than is probably strictly necessary, but he’s shaken by being noticed. He’s got a ways to walk, but he doesn’t really mind. It’s a nice evening, not raining, and the air smells like the sea and the forest.

Only one of the group is left outside when he gets there; it’s the third guy, who’s wearing a gaudy-ass jacket that would’ve been in vogue in the nineties that clashes disastrously with his Hawaiian shirt. He’s leaning against the wall and finishing off a cigarette. He looks up with interest when he sees Pat, though.

“You new here?” he says, by way of greeting.

“Yeah. Uh, Simone told me I should come?” Pat says, not sure what this guy’s role in the social pecking order is, exactly.

“Ah, yeah, she’s always dragging people to things. No wonder she rounded everyone up today, she always wants to give a big welcome to anyone new. I’m Justin.”

“I’m Patrick.”

“Nice to meet you.” He ditches the remains of his cigarette in the appropriate contraption. “Consider yourself warned, it’s kind of a rambunctious crowd.”

“Oh boy,” Pat says, but he follows Justin inside.

 

It’s well-lit and not crowded; it’s almost (heaven forbid) hip, which Pat wasn’t remotely expecting from this tiny town that’s hardly on the map on the coast of eastern Maine. About half the space is taken up with long wooden tables. Pat spots Simone at the same moment that she sees him, and she waves at him frantically.

“Pat! Hey!” she shouts, and he hates hates hates that he’s blushing as everyone in the vicinity turns to see who she’s yelling at.

“Good luck,” says Justin, with a short laugh, and Pat goes to meet his fate.

“Simone saved you a seat at the cool kids table, you must be special,” says the person to Simone’s left. It’s the woman with the undercut, from outside.

“Nah, just new,” Pat says, and slides into the seat to Simone’s right, obeying her gesticulating. “I’m Pat.”

“I’m Jenna! It’s nice to have someone else around. Simone said you’re in that lonely old cabin?”

“Yeah. It’s not so bad,” Pat says.

“I couldn’t do it,” says Justin, from behind him; he and the two other men Pat saw before are sitting at the next table back, and would have their backs to them if they weren’t all three turned around with interest.

“Well, you wouldn’t have to, you’d drag your brothers with you anyway,” Simone says. “This is Justin, and Griffin, and Travis. Guys, this is Pat.”

“We met outside,” Justin says.

“You could be friendlier, you know,” the purple-haired one — Travis — says. He’s equally as colorful as Justin, but with a cowboy flavor instead of obnoxious tourist: mahogany leather jacket and a shirt with weird embroidery on the shoulders and cowboy boots. In fucking _Maine._

“I am friendly. I didn’t ignore him, I introduced myself, and we walked in together,” Justin says. “What more d’you want from me?”

“Don’t be such a grouch, for starters,” Griffin pipes up from Travis’s other side. His contrast is stark against his brothers’ bright colors, in a white shirt and a dark heather gray hoodie. “Sorry about him, he’s moping ‘cause his wife’s on a business trip.”

“I am not moping.”

Griffin rolls his eyes. “Alright, Juice, you tell yourself that. I’m sure she’s gonna be really happy to hear you’re smoking again in her absence.” Justin scoffs, but Griffin ignores him. “Anyway, Simone, where’d Ashley get off to?”

“She was getting drinks, I thought? Or maybe she went to the bathroom. I dunno, she’ll be back sometime.”

“That’s helpful,” Jenna says.

“Well! You can’t expect me to keep track of everyone,” Simone says. “Speaking of, anyone know if Brian’s coming?”

“He said he was,” says Jenna. “Or is he running it tonight?”

“No, it was — oh, duh, it’s Ashley, she must be talking to Chelsea.”

Pat already feels overwhelmed by the amount of names he has to keep track of, and he’s intimidated by how many more seem to be in store.

“Pat, you want a drink or anything?” says Justin, suddenly. “I’m going to get myself something.”

“What, we don’t get beverage service?” Griffin says.

“No, just for Pat.”

“Cool,” says Griffin. “Get me one of those — ”

“Awful beer with the lime, yeah, yeah, I know. Trav, usual?”

“Yeah! Thanks!”

“Pat?” Justin says again.

“I, uh. Shit, I dunno,” he says, “you don’t have to — ”

“Okay, cool, I’m gonna, though. You don’t like to drink? I’ll get you a lemonade or some shit.”

“No, I do, I just don’t know — ”

“Uh, let me see, what’s good for trivia night and not making an ass of yourself in front of new people — Chels is really into the whole radler thing right now, she got a whole bunch of San Pellegrino and keeps trying to get people to mix it with their beer, it’s actually pretty good — ”

“Sure,” Pat says, just so he stops _talking,_ everyone is looking at him and it’s _awful,_ why did he do this?

“Cool. Simone, Jenna?”

The three of them start debating and Pat starts to tune it out. He accidentally catches Griffin’s eye, probably because Griffin is watching him with some amusement. Pat raises his eyebrows.

“He feels bad for being rude, he’s trying to fix it without actually apologizing. Don’t fret about it,” Griffin says, as Justin leaves. “He’s not usually like this, he’s just stressed.”

“Fair enough,” says Pat, with a shrug.

“Also he does this every time, I think he likes to hang out with Chelsea as she makes everyone’s drinks. They’ve known each other for, like, ever,” Simone says.

“Hey, everyone, I got breadsticks and I am not sharing!” says a new voice, loudly, from behind Pat. He turns, and the man adds, “Oh, hi, hello, who are you?”

“Patrick Gill. Uh. Pat,” he says, staccato, definitely not tongue-tied, nope! It’s just — he’s _cute,_ this new guy, with big hazel green-brown-gold eyes and wavy brown hair and a mischievous little curious smile.

The guy slides into the seat to Pat’s right. “Brian David Gilbert. Want a breadstick?”

“Wow! Easily swayed by a pretty face!” Simone says.

“Can’t help it,” Brian says. He winks at Pat and scoots the basket towards him and, fuck, okay, yeah, he won’t say no to that, he’s fucking hungry anyway. Being a bird does that to a person. Surely they’re joking, besides.

“Thanks,” Pat says, and Brian beams at him.

“When did you move here?” Brian says, resting his chin in his hand and looking at Pat with interest.

“Couple weeks ago,” Pat says. “Mostly been unpacking and whatever.”

“I bet. Where are you from?”

“I’m from here. Well, not here specifically, I mean Maine in general. I lived in New York for a while, but, uh. I came back.”

“Dang, I’ve always wanted to visit New York City. Wait, were you in the city or just the state?”

“The city.” Oh, god, he doesn’t want to get into this, and thank goodness he is rescued by Justin returning with a hell of a lot of beverages.

There is a commotion as they are distributed — “Oh, hey, Brian, wasn’t sure if you were coming, I would’ve gotten you something if I’d known.”

“Justin, you’re too nice, you’re going to go broke from it. I got my own drink anyway.”

“I can afford to buy a round of drinks for my friends once a week.”

Brian shakes his head, fondly, and turns back to Pat, who has just stuttered out an awkward thank you in Justin’s direction, only to get it thoroughly shrugged off.

“So what do you do, Pat?” says Jenna, from across Simone. It is all Pat can do to not groan aloud in despair.

“Um. Mostly video production, but I write a bit too.”

“Ooh, what kind of stuff?”

“Video games,” Pat admits, with a bit of a grimace. He never loves how that comes across.

“Oh my god! That’s so cool,” Simone says. “Do you play _Overwatch?_ I’ve been dying to get someone to play with me. Well, besides Ash, but she’s more into _Destiny_ lately.”

“I actually don’t. I know, I know, I should, but it wasn’t my beat and also I got real into _Monster Hunter_ instead.”

“Your beat?” says Travis.

Aw, shit. “Yeah, like, uh, journalistically speaking. Y’know. I was a games journalist for a hot minute there. Did videos and streams and whatever. Well. I still do streams, I guess, but not —” He sighs. He’s rambling and he can’t stop himself and now he’s already fallen ass-first into his sob story. “Couldn’t make it in the big city so I’m freelancing, now,” he finishes, with a shrug. Damn, he really appreciates that beer now, for something to do with his hands and his mouth, and it’s mixed with something carbonated and lemony and that’s nice too, actually.

“That sucks,” says Griffin, with genuine empathy.

Pat sighs. “Yeah. It does. Least it’s pretty here.”

“Have you been to the ocean much?” says Simone. This makes Jenna laugh, for whatever reason.

“A couple times. Not a lot. Like I said, I’ve been busy —” _being depressed_ “— unpacking and stuff. But yeah, it’s real nice. Peaceful.” Not like he would’ve moved here if he didn’t like the sea.

Simone looks pleased by this response, so at least he’s passed that test, unnecessary as it seems.

“What about you guys? You just hang out here for trivia night and evaporate the rest of the time?”

Simone really laughs at that, and Jenna elbows her. “Something like that,” Simone says, finally.

“Justin’s wife — Sydnee — is a doctor, she’s smarter than all the rest of us combined. Well, except maybe Brian,” Griffin says. Brian looks flattered. “The three of us have got a podcast, which is not, uh, super lucrative, but it’s fun.”

“What do you do, then, smarty-pants?” Pat says, raising his eyebrows at Brian.

“Griff’s exaggerating. I write and stuff, nothing exciting. I’m working on a musical with my sister, but it’s — it’s silly, mostly.”

“He’s being modest, it’s fucking spectacular,” Simone chips in. _“And_ he went to Hopkins.”

“Simone, quit spreading apocrypha,” Brian huffs. “She’s a liar, Pat Gill, don’t believe a word of it.”

“Whatever. Uh, what’re you missing? I’m a gremlin, professionally, and Jenna works at the library,” says Simone.

“I didn’t know there was an industry in gremlinism. Maybe that’s the business I should be in,” Pat says, and Simone cackles.

“You need a degree and like six referrals, it’s a pain in the ass to break into,” Brian puts in. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“You’re overqualified for the entry-level positions,” Justin says, deadpan, and Pat snorts.

There is a shriek of microphone feedback, and near everyone startles and whips around. The other woman Pat had seen outside winces.

“Sorry, guys!” she says in their direction. “Technical difficulties!”

“I don’t even get why you use a microphone, we’re right the fuck here,” Justin grumbles.

“It’s part of the act!” Brian says, scandalized. “Plus what would the fun be if the feedback didn’t make poor Jenna jump twenty feet?”

Jenna makes a very mean face at him and does not dignify him with a further reply.

“That’s Ashley. Chelsea’s at the bar, she owns the place. They’re both great,” Brian says to Pat, _sotto voce._ He appreciates the knowledge. “You’ll get the hang of it. I know it’s a lot at once, but everyone’s real nice.”

“Thank you,” says Pat, maybe too genuinely. But he is overwhelmed, and Brian can obviously tell.

Brian gives him a sympathetic little smile; not patronizing, but understanding. “Wanna be on my team? The McElroys always join up even though they’re not _supposed to have a team of three,”_ Brian says loudly over his shoulder. Travis makes a face at him. “Usually I get Laura on my side — that’s my sister — but she’s not here so I can choose whoever the hell I want.” His smile blossoms into something real genuine, real sweet.

“Yeah, sure. I only know anything about dumbass action films and video games, though.”

“Oh, good! I only know shit about literature and weird science facts. We will make a perfect team of not knowing anything at all about pop culture. The brothers sweep that away, anyway, it’s not even _fair._ I don’t know when they even have the time to get into all that media.”

“It’s ‘cause they only make podcasts and don’t do anything else,” Simone says, from Pat’s other side.

“Hey! Don’t be jerks,” Travis says.

“I will be exactly as much of a jerk as I want to be, thank you very much,” Simone says haughtily.

“If you’re all done squabbling,” Ashley says. She’s ditched the microphone, and is still plenty audible, because she is in fact right the fuck there in front of them. Something about her reminds him of Allegra — her tone, the sharp-but-affectionate way she looks at her friends — and that presses hard into an ache he really, really was hoping not to think about tonight. Not any more than he had to, anyway. “It’s my show now and it’s time for us to get started!”

There’s a whiteboard behind Ashley, with an array of colorful Expo markers. The categories are written in neat, rounded handwriting: _Nature Factz, Pop Culture, Sports, WILD CARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!._ And across the top, in big block letters: _IF YOU CHEAT YOU’RE DISQUALIFIED,_ and in scrawled handwriting off to the side, _and also you should buy the next round of drinks b/c you’re a jerk :(_

“Y’all know the rules, except new guy here, I guess, but I think it’s pretty self-explanatory,” Ashley says, waving her hand vaguely at the disclaimer on the board.

“Our team’s called McEljoy,” Travis shouts, from behind Pat.

“I hate all three of you, that is the worst,” Ashley says, but goes to write it in purple on the board. “Okay, rest of you?”

“Brian’s Good Team!” Brian shouts out.

“Wow, you didn’t even _ask_ Pat,” says Simone.

“I’m rude now,” says Brian.

“My team is better,” Simone says to Ashley, who laughs and puts that up on the board as _Better Team._

Pencils and sheets of paper are distributed in a flurry of mild chaos, and then finally everyone is ready to start. Brian lets Pat be the secretary between them, which is a role Pat always prefers despite his chicken-scratch handwriting.

The first question is in equal parts amusing and humiliating to Pat.

“What is the scientific name of the genus that includes ravens and crows?”

This is something Pat should definitely, definitely, _definitely_ know. But he sits there holding the pencil over the paper, staring at it blankly.

“You know this one?” Brian says, in a whisper. Simone has scooted right up next to Jenna, and Pat has moved closer to Brian, so they can’t be easily eavesdropped upon, but it’s definitely still possible.

“Uh. No,” Pat admits. “Starts with a C? I think?”

Brian gives a short huff of a laugh. “It’s _Corvus._ Latin for raven.”

Pat sighs, because he should’ve known that, and he definitely _did_ at some point because as soon as Brian says it he remembers having known. He writes it down, and then doodles a little bird next to it for good measure.

“Brian, you missed it, there was a crow or raven or something outside before you got here,” Simone says.

“No talking during rounds!” Ashley says.

“No one’s writing anymore, come on,” Simone whines back. “And it was _relevant.”_

Ashley looks at her very disapprovingly, but Pat can see the corners of her mouth twitch, like she’s fighting a smile. God, he misses Legs. Misses having a fun back-and-forth with someone he knows well enough to tease.

But it’s fine. It’s fine!

He manages to recover from his embarrassment from the first question because he can name five Jackie Chan movies, easy, and he knows a bunch of garbage about WWE and he’s only brought up short by the WILD CARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!. Well, that’s not quite true -- he knows the medicinal (and magical) properties of coltsfoot perfectly well, but he’s not sure if he wants to admit it. So he dawdles over it and then when Brian doesn’t come up with an answer, he scrawls _helps treat respiratory ailments_ at the last second and flips the page over.

Ashley goes around and collects everyone’s papers and everyone turns back towards each other to resume their chatter.

“Where’s Laura? She’s usually here,” Simone says, leaning forward to look at Brian around Pat.

“She was taking a nap and I didn’t want to wake her up. She’ll be annoyed, but she’s always kind of — under the weather, when the seasons change. I swear she stays in bed for a solid week every time. I’m sure she’ll come next week, though. Maybe we can even convince Jonah to tag along so we can have even numbers! Or make one of you three join the odd one out and it’ll be fair for once,” Brian says, directing this last at the brothers.

“Not likely,” says Travis.

“Oh my god, I haven’t seen Jonah in ages, what’s he up to?” Jenna says.

“Being a nuisance, generally. He won’t help me and Laura with our project, which is rude.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Justin mutters. Pat raises an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t elaborate.

“What, there’s no harm in him _writing_ music,” Brian complains. “He’s good at it. He’s always yelling at me for my bullshit chord progressions anyway, he might as well actually participate. Pat, do you do music?”

“Uh, only a handful of chords on guitar that I learned to try to look cooler than I am,” he confesses. “I can read music, a little, but that’s — that’s it, honestly.”

Brian looks slightly sad to hear this, but bounces back quickly enough. “I’ll have to show you what Laura and I are working on, see what you think.”

“He just wants an excuse to sing at someone, don’t encourage him,” Griffin says. “No one likes a show-off, no matter how talented you are.”

Brian gives an affronted huff of a sigh at that, and Griffin grins at him. Brian rolls his eyes and shakes his head fondly. “Mean.”

“Are you gonna play this other round I wrote up or are you just gonna gossip all night?” Ashley says, from the other side of the table. “‘Cause if you’re just gonna gossip then I’m sitting with you.”

“Oh, well, yeah, come join us!” Simone says. “Who won?”

“Brian and — uh, what’s your name?”

“Patrick.”

“Brian and Patrick won,” Ashley says.

 _“Hell_ yes, free breadsticks again, baby!” Brian says, drawing out baby so it’s more like _bay-bee._ He holds out his hand for a high-five, which Pat gives him.

“Any news from you?” Jenna says to Ashley.

“You know perfectly well there’s not, you saw me yesterday while you were walking the dog,” Ashley says, which makes Jenna laugh. “When’d sulky goth over here move in?”

“Wow, I have a name, you just said it a minute ago,” Pat says, and Ashley grins at him.

“I appreciate that you responded to it, though,” she says.

“Yeah, well. If the shoe fits,” Pat sighs.

“Ashley’s a sulky goth too, don’t take it personally,” Simone says.

“Oh, I wasn’t. It’s a fair assessment. I mean, I wouldn’t actively identify that way, but I can see it.”

“We could get you some eyeliner and then you could complete the look,” Travis says pensively.

“Or I’d look like a complete asshole.”

“Or that,” Travis concedes. 

 

And so the evening passes. Everyone stays friendly, if snarky, even when most of them pass the threshold of tipsy. Pat appreciates it. He can’t tell if they actually like him, but at least they’re being nice enough.

“You’re at that old cabin down the way, right?” Brian says, as everyone’s getting their things together to leave.

“Why does everyone know where I _live?”_

“Small town. Everyone’s in everyone else’s shit constantly,” Brian says cheerfully. “Did you walk? I didn’t see a car.”

“Yeah,” Pat lies.

“I’m out that way too, sort of. I can walk with you, if you’d like, at least part of the way?”

Well, in that case, there’ll be no sneaking off to fly home either way. “Sure.”

“Yeah, you gotta be safe. You never know, there might be werewolves,” Jenna says, and Simone breaks into her loud laughter.

“The full moon was yesterday, I think I’ll be alright,” Pat says. Jenna snickers. “Thanks, uh, for inviting me, Simone. I appreciate it.”

“Of course! I’m glad you came,” she says, with a sincere smile. “You should come back next time.”

“We’ll see,” says Pat, but he gives her a little smile, and she seems pleased enough with that response.

 

He and Brian make their way outside, after everyone’s done poking fun at each other. Pat glances at his phone, as Brian exchanges banter with Simone.

Allegra  
  
**Today** 7:25 PM  
Wanna stream Mad Max w me and T?  
??  
Ok im taking that as a no  
**Today** 11:19 PM  
Sorry, I went to some trivia night thing in town, just saw this  
  
No worries. Was it fun?  
Yeah. Met some nice ppl. Tell you abt it later, I gotta walk home  
  


Pat sighs and puts his phone back in his pocket as Brian finally turns away from Simone and directs his attention to Pat.

“You ready?” Brian says, like he wasn’t the one causing the holdup.

“Yep,” says Pat, who doesn’t mind terribly, except for that it’s getting chilly as it gets later and he’s accidentally talked himself into walking at least a mile through the forest and he’s a shade less sober than he’d like to be for that endeavor. He shoves his hands into his pockets and falls in step with Brian, who seems to be perfectly cheerful and full of energy.

 

“So, uh,” says Pat, and then remembers he’s awful at small talk. He casts his mind around frantically for something intelligent to say. “How long have you lived here?”

“My whole life,” says Brian, with a crooked little smile. “It doesn’t get much more exciting than you just saw, if I’m being honest. So I hope you’re not looking for anything too wild.”

“Well. That’s good to know.” He looks at the ground, as they walk, trying to think of something interesting to say. The silence stretches on, until Brian speaks.

“What’s it like in New York City? I — I’ve always wanted to see it.”

“It’s not that awful a drive, you could probably make a weekend of it,” Pat points out. “But it’s. It’s really different. It’s loud, and bright, and you’re never really by yourself. Except somehow that makes it more lonely, sometimes. That’s not to say I didn’t like it, though. I really did. I was only there for about a year, but — I miss it. I do.” He doesn’t look at Brian, as he says all this.

Brian is quiet for a moment. “I bet,” he says. “That’s really hard. Do you keep in touch with anyone?”

“A little. A couple friends. I kinda —” He sighs. “I kinda had a messy time leaving. Like, emotionally. I’m not really sure if they’re just keeping up with me because they feel obligated to make sure I’m okay, or — wow, sorry, that is way too much information.”

“No! No, it’s okay, I get it. That’s a lot to be trying to deal with. I, uh. I hope you keep coming to the trivia nights. Or something. It helps, I think, to be around people, when things are rough.”

“Yeah,” Pat says. “You’re right. I’m just not great at it.”

“What do you mean? Everyone liked you, a lot, I could tell!”

Pat looks at him skeptically.

“Don’t make that face at me, I mean it. You made Ashley laugh, and she’s so dang taciturn when it comes to new people. Plus I’ve never met a better judge of character than Jenna, and she definitely likes you. And, hey, I wouldn’t be walking home with you if I didn’t at least think you were alright, yeah?”

“I guess. Unless you’re secretly a murderer.”

“Hah! No murders here, Pat Gill, unless you count crows.”

Pat rolls his eyes. He’s heard that one before. “I can’t believe I forgot fuckin’ _Corvus,_ that’s so obvious.”

“You were nervous! No one could fault you for that. Seriously. I think you’re doing just fine.”

“Thank you,” says Pat, looking at the ground again.

“I gotta head this way, but take care, okay? I’ll see you soon, I hope,” says Brian, with a shy smile.

“See you,” echoes Pat, and even manages a tiny smile in response, before Brian disappears off deeper into the trees.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which we find out some backstory
> 
> content warnings ahoy, nothing Too rough but i figure i should give a heads-up anyway;  
> some more depression/anxiety stuff, but that's pretty much a given for the whole fic ngl. a character is dealing with some internalized homophobia. sex that has been had between two characters in the past is mentioned in conversation, as well as the complicated emotions around it.

Days go by in a vague, unremarkable blur. He drags himself out of bed. He goes through the motions of being a person. He spends too much time on Twitter. He tries to find somewhere he hasn’t applied to yet. He spends even more time on Twitter. He does his Twitch stream, some days. He doesn’t even have the energy to turn on a game, most other days. He texts Allegra and Thomas back, usually.

He’s bored. He’s miserable. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

 

3:50 PM | Allegra Frank  
Pat you know I’m not like… mad at you, right?

4:45 PM | Allegra Frank  
What happened wasn’t your fault

10:03 PM | Allera Frank  
I’m worried about you

1:37 AM | Patrick Gill  
I’m sorry. I don’t mean to worry you  
I just feel awful about it  
All of it  
I miss you  
I;m sorry

 

He almost drops his phone in surprise when it starts to vibrate at him.

1:40 AM

**Incoming Call**

**Allegra Frank**

Accept | Decline

_Fuck._

“Hey, Legs.”

“Patrick, what’s going on?” she says. She sounds… almost frantic? He guesses maybe he shouldn’t have sent her a string of texts at ass o’clock in the morning, not when his behavior’s already been a little concerning for the past few months.

“I don’t know,” he says, and drags the back of his hand over his face. “I really don’t know. It’s so — I’m so — it’s fucking stupid.”

“It’s not,” she says, so gently.

“It _is._ Things should be easier now but they’re fucking _not.”_

“I don’t think it helps that you’re off isolated in the middle of the woods.”

“Well, what the fuck else was I supposed to do?” He’s mad — he’s so mad — at himself, not anyone else, not anything else, he’s just so _tired_ of his own bullshit. “I just want to come back,” he says, and his voice is broken and it’s awful awful _awful_ but it’s not like she hasn’t heard him cry. Not like she hasn’t seen him cry, under far worse circumstances.

“I know. I’m so sorry. I could try to get out there sometime? Maybe Thomas, too? Or we could try to get you back here, even for a couple days. You could stay with one of us, you know, it would be fine.”

“I wouldn’t — I wouldn’t ask that of you,” Pat says, his voice rough.

“Good thing I’m offering, then. Honestly, Pat, you really — I think you really just need to talk more.”

“I talk plenty, I stream like five days a week.”

“Please. You don’t talk about your personal life at freaking _all._ I have never seen anyone more dedicated to privacy in my entire life. And can I be honest? I’m, like, actually genuinely worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m not — I’m not gonna do anything. I’m just sad. That’s all. Like, wow, lost my dream job, left New York, left my friends, like — it sucks, that’s all. I’ll get used to it. I’ve got to. I’ll hear back from someplace eventually and then maybe I’ll start getting my shit back together.”

He hears her sigh. There is a long pause. “I just wish you’d ask for help, if you needed it.”

“I’m fine, Legs. I’m fine. I really am.”

“You’re on the phone with me, crying, at almost 2AM. Yep. That’s the definition of fine, alright.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do, okay? You guys are so far away and this is just — this is just how things are, right now, it’s not like any of us can do anything about it. I went to the trivia night last week. I’ll probably go again this week. That’s people, alright? That’s the best I’ve got right now.” He rubs his eyes. “I’m doing the best I can, here.”

“I know you are,” she says softly. “I’m sorry things are so shitty right now.”

“Yeah, well,” says Pat, but there’s no real bite to it. “Sometimes things just kinda suck.”

“You know I’m here for you, right?” Her voice is gentle, so gentle. He curls in on himself and tries not to fucking sob at it.

He intends to say _yeah_ or _thank you_ but instead what comes out of his mouth is, “I don’t know why you are after everything I’ve fucked up.”

“Patrick, no, come on, please, we’ve talked about this. I’m not — I’m not upset, okay? I get it.”

“You should be mad,” he says. He’s crying again, in earnest, and he can’t stop himself. “You should’ve ditched me on the spot. I shouldn’t have done that to you. It wasn’t fair.”

“You didn’t know any better than I did!”

“I did! I had to have known. Right? In some way? Even if I wasn’t sure? It wasn’t fucking _fair_ for me to use you to figure out if I’m gay, not when I knew you liked me, not when I was risking our whole goddamn friendship, it’s shitty! It’s awful! You should fucking hate me and I can’t figure out why you don’t!”

“Because you can’t help it!” Allegra snaps, and then sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to yell. Like, yeah, I was upset. Of course I was. But not because of that. It just always sucks to find out someone you’re into doesn’t feel the same. That’s all. But I get it, I do. And we both made some stupid decisions — it wasn’t just you, okay? But you’re my friend, Pat, before any of that. I care about you more than some freaking… series of bad choices.”

Yeah. Sure was a series of bad choices, alright.

“I don’t have to date you to give a shit about if you’re okay. And what we did — it takes two, bud. You didn’t ‘use me.’ I’m equally as much to blame, for even putting it on the table. Which, if you’ll recall, I did. It’s not your fault, not any more than it is mine. We’re either both to blame, or neither to blame, and that’s _okay._ I’m not holding it against you. I’m more than happy to move on. Leave it in the past. If you are, I mean, and you don’t have any grievances to air about my behavior. Do you?”

“No,” he says, raw and awful terrible aching sad. “No, I don’t. You did everything right. I’m just. I’m just sorry I couldn’t — that I couldn’t be that for you. I wanted to. I wish I could. You deserve the fucking world, Allegra, and if I could give it to you I would.”

“I know,” she says. “You’re sweet. And too freaking hard on yourself. You’re doing the best you can with what you’ve got. I can appreciate that. And, you know, t-b-h, now that we both know where we’re at, we can actually find, like, viable partners.”

“Yeah,” says Pat, with a dark sort of laugh. “Great. I get to start dating men, now that I can’t fool myself any longer. That’s not terrifying.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, man. Men suck.”

Pat snort-laughs, unexpectedly, and then they both crack up at that, because it’s so ridiculous and gross because he was crying and his nose was all snotty and it’s disgusting and he’s flailing around for tissues and frantically narrating his search to Legs who sounds like she’s crying too, but of laughter, and by the time they both settle back down it feels like some of the awful weight in his chest has lifted.

“Allegra?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For checking in. And, uh. For everything. I’m sorry I’ve been such a shithead, lately.”

“I think you’ve got enough going on that you’re well within your rights to be kind of a mess. But I appreciate the apology. I guess try and — I dunno — maybe not bottle stuff up so much? It’s bad for you.”

“I’ll try my best. I really will. I promise.”

“Good. I’m gonna hold you to that. And go to your weird trivia thing this week, too. Make more friends. It’s good for you.”

“Hah. Yeah. Okay. I will.”

She yawns, at the other end of the line, which makes Pat yawn too, states away. “I should sleep. So should you.”

“You’re right. As usual.”

“That’s because I have common sense, unlike some people,” she says, teasing, and Pat scoffs.

“I resent that.”

“Well! Just sayin’.”

Pat sighs. “I mean, yeah. You’re right.”

Legs laughs. “Good night, Pat. Get some rest, okay? And let me know how you’re doing tomorrow.”

“I will. Thank you. Night, Legs.”

 

So, alright, he keeps fixating, because he can’t help it, but he chills the fuck out, at least kind of. Like, it would have been nice if his last month in NYC hadn’t involved his roommate moving out and his financial situation becoming a disaster and fucking his best friend because they’re both idiots and bursting into tears in her bed after and finally admitting to himself that he’s gay at thirty goddamn years old and leaving his job and having to tell his family that he’s moving back to Maine because he can’t afford his new life and packing all his shit and leaving everything he’d ever dreamed of —

Yeah. It would’ve been nice if none of that had happened. But it did, and now he’s just got to deal with it, and… maybe it’s not fine. Maybe he’s not fine.

But he’s going to make a valiant goddamn effort to get there.

 

He’s lying on his couch in the middle of the afternoon, trying to talk himself into doing his laundry or something, when there’s a knock on the front door.

Is this what living in a small town is like?

He hauls himself to his feet and opens the door to find Brian and Jenna. Both of them are grinning full-force, and look genuinely actually excited to see Pat.

“Hey! Jenna made cookies and also we were bored so we decided to come say hi,” Brian says.

“Everyone here is too goddamn friendly,” Pat grumbles, without any malice, and holds the door open for them. They make themselves right immediately at home in his living room, put a plate of chocolate chip cookies on his coffee table, curl up in his armchair and on his couch, and it is so bizarre to have people visit him that he hardly knows what to do with himself for a second. And then he remembers how to act like a human being and he sits down on the couch next to Brian.

Both of them are infinitely more talkative than Pat. As it turns out Jenna (much like Pat) can talk at length about _Monster Hunter,_ and it makes Brian curious enough about it that Pat turns it on and makes him a new save file.

“Oh shit, character customization time,” Brian says, and smiles wickedly.

“Ooh! Let us help,” Jenna says, and leans forward excitedly.

They spend the next hour giggling over customization options. Pat wants Brian to make something outrageous and goofy. Jenna wants him to make something cool and weird. Brian wants to make something that actually looks nice. So they compromise.

“Okay, fine, you _menaces,_ here’s what we’ll do. Pat, you can choose the hair and some, I dunno, tattoos or scars or something. Jenna, you can choose the colors. I’m choosing everything else.”

“I’m colorblind!” Jenna says.

“Well, then, all the better for chaos, right?”

When all is said and done, their character is — actually pretty cool, with a lime green mohawk and extremely elaborate makeup and a scar over one bright purple eye. They squabble over the name, until Brian gives up and names them Terry. “I name all my characters that, if I can’t come up with something more exciting.”

“That’s so boring,” Jenna says.

“Well, I’m not going with, fuckin’, Baron von Twinkletoes or whatever Pat said, so deal with it.”

Brian proves himself to be spectacularly awful at the game. This is not altogether unexpected; Pat is only any good at it because he’s spent _mumble mumble too many don’t look at my stats_ hours on it. This is also because Brian insists upon using the hunting horn even though it’s wildly impractical and requires so much _forethought, Brian, you have to do the combos for it to work right_ —

So that’s their afternoon gone. He gets a Snapchat from Legs at work, of her sticking her tongue out and giving a peace sign with a blurry Thomas walking through the background, captioned _cryptid sighting._ Pat smiles and sneaks a picture of Brian and Jenna while they’re both distracted by yelling at the TV, sends it to her. _Look, I’ve got friends._ He even draws a little arrow pointing to each of them and labels them _Brian_ and _Jenna_ like he’s making a diagram in biology class, except it’s of his slightly-less-sorry-than-before social life.

Her reply is a picture of the ceiling, he’s pretty sure, used as a blank canvas to put like fifty weird gifs of applause on. He rolls his eyes and puts his phone aside to pay attention to why on earth Brian is cursing (loudly and creatively) at his video game. He looks up just in time to see the _You fainted_ message appear on the screen, and Brian groans.

“I hate this game, Pat Gill.”

“Yeah, well, sorry to break it to you, but I guess you’re not a true elite gamer,” Pat says, deadpan, and Jenna laughs. Brian puts on a very convincing pout.

“You guys are so mean. I’m gonna make you play _Celeste_ with me and then we’ll see who’s laughing!”

“Oh, god, no, not again,” Jenna says. “Pat, don’t let him play that game with you, he is so good at it it is not even fair, it will make you feel terrible about yourself.”

“Duly noted. Here, Brian, go to the forge and see if you can upgrade your shit, you’ve got all the basic gear, no wonder you keep dying,” Pat says, and then Brian asks him to (horror of horrors) explain the excessively complicated weapon upgrade trees, which goes about as well as anyone would expect something as esoteric as that to go.

Brian stares at him blankly through the whole explanation, and then says _uh-huh,_ and then clicks on a seemingly completely random upgrade.

Fair enough. So would Pat, honestly.

He glances at the time, and then winces.

“Hey, I hate to kick you out, but I have to, um. I have a livestream in a half-hour,” he says.

“Ooh, for what?” says Jenna.

“I stream on Twitch a few times a week. It’s what pays the bills,” he admits. “I mean, if you guys really wanted to stay, I could probably dig up something with a decent local multiplayer, if you don’t mind goofing off on camera in front of a couple hundred people.”

“That’s right up Brian’s alley,” Jenna says. Brian grins. “Mine too, I think. But don’t feel pressured! We can go, it’s totally fine.”

“If you want to hang out you definitely can. I haven’t had a guest on in ages, not since I moved out here. Here, let’s see what I’ve got,” he says, already crossing the room to look around. Brian follows him, kneeling to look at his collection.

“Jeez Louise, look at all the goodies you’ve got!” Brian says. “How do you even get this much shit?”

“Needed them for work. To be fair, I got a good chunk of the games for free, for reviews and stuff, but. Yeah. Games journalism’s not a cheap industry to break into, at first.”

“Oof,” says Brian, and flops over backwards so he’s sprawled on his back on the floor. “Can we play something on the Switch? I’ve wanted to try it for ages.”

“Sounds good. _Smash_ work for you two?”

“Hell yeah!” says Jenna, and Brian gives a thumbs-up.

“Cool. Let me get my shit set up, then.”

 

Pat bustles around getting his camera and his recording device and his microphone and whatever other miscellany into place and plugged in and hooked up. Jenna and Brian watch with interest, as his setup builds itself. He puts his laptop on the coffee table, to keep an eye on chat, and turns the game on on his TV. He distributes controllers to each of them, and has just enough time to grab them all drinks before it’s go time.

“I don’t really like to talk about personal shit on stream, but aside from that it’s just. Be cool. You don’t have to worry about, like, swearing or whatever. It’s pretty chill. I mostly say a lot of dumb weird garbage and people seem to like it alright. You ready if I turn everything on?”

“Yeah!”

“Hell yeah.”

 

Jenna and Brian are an immediate smash hit. Jenna’s his age, and he thinks Brian is a little younger, like Legs and Thomas; they click perfectly with the strange flavor of humor that is his niche. Brian laughs so hard he nearly _cries_ when Pat absentmindedly echoes the _“piss”_ soundbite, something Pat had half-forgotten was even out of the norm.

_(That’s a strange sense of normalcy, Patrick,_ he thinks to himself. _You really do need more friends.)_

Brian is charismatic, quick-witted, and clever; Jenna is funny and charming and smart; Pat can only manage to keep up as the straight man to their comedy duo.

The irony of this never escapes him.

But he’s really good at keeping a poker face even when Brian says something like “okay but would you rather smash Bowser or Donkey Kong” and punctuates it with a wink.

“I think they’re both a lot bigger than me, I can’t say I’m confident I’d come out on top,” Pat says, and Jenna giggles and aw goddammit he looped all the way back around into suggestive again.

“Oh, interesting,” Brian says. His lips quirk into a little half-smile at this. _Terrible._

“I think the correct answer is Bowser. Objectively speaking,” Jenna says.

“I dunno, everyone says that. I think you’re overlooking the potential in DK,” Brian says, and Pat groans in despair as he and Jenna continue to bicker.

His eyes flicker down to the chat and he is suddenly blasted with an unexpected jolt of panic when he realizes that most everyone is talking in excited all-caps about how it’s ten minutes to pride month and oh shit oh fuck how is he going to swing this, he didn’t even think about it.

Jenna follows his gaze and looks at the chat too, and she brightens.

“Guys, it’s ten minutes till it’s every LGBT person’s birthday,” she says, and Brian laughs and Pat deems it appropriate to smile. His heart is racing, god _damn_ it, but he knows from hard-won experience he can keep it on lockdown. “We’ve all gotta sing happy birthday to each other. I mean, everyone who it applies to. Everyone else has to sing it to us. Everyone’s gonna be singing, is what I’m saying.”

“You do not want to hear me sing,” Pat says.

“That’s okay. You’re hosting the stream, that’s plenty of solidarity,” Brian says. Pat has _never_ been more grateful for another human being in his entire life, for Brian’s gift of plausible deniability, for leaving it so Pat would need to actively correct him to come out. Only two people on the entire goddamn planet know he’s gay and he is not about to multiply that number by several hundred, thank you very much.

Instead of letting Brian and Jenna break into song _a capella_ at the stroke of midnight, he performs some sneaky behind-the-scenes maintenance to let the audience play a host of the more obnoxious soundbites for a wildly discounted price, and leaves them to discover it.

The resulting chaos is a bit overwhelming, sure, but it’s worth it. Worth it to laugh with Brian and Jenna, bent double wheezing trying to catch his breath. Worth it to not have to field conversation for ten solid minutes until Pat finally can’t take it anymore and shuts off the soundboard. Worth it to be able to celebrate, somehow, even without being able to say anything.

All three of them are still a little giddy and silly from the shenanigans, when they finally sign off, well after midnight.

“You do that all the time?” says Brian, who looks elated, thrilled by praise and excitement and attention. His eyes are so pretty, green-brown-gold in the lamplight.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not usually quite like that. Usually I keep it a little more reigned in. But. Special occasion, and guests, and all that.” He gives a half-smile. He wonders if it looks as nervous as he feels.

“That was so fun,” Jenna says. “Thank you for having us.”

“Of course,” Pat says. “It’s always nice to have someone else to talk to, so I don’t have to talk to myself for two hours straight.”

Brian is still grinning. He looks so goddamn full of energy, for so late at night. Pat studies him, for a long moment.

“Found a new calling, Brian?” Jenna says, before Pat can think of anything smart to say.

“Maybe!” Brian says. “I loved that.”

“Well, maybe you can join me more often, then. The chat seemed to like you guys.”

Brian looks so genuinely happy at the suggestion that Pat is already starting to think about how he can work Brian into a regular time slot, if there’s any game they might be particularly suited to playing together, if there’s any fun gimmicks they can try —

“I should head out, it’s pretty late,” Jenna says, standing. “Pat, it was really nice of you to put up with us for so long and for letting us be on your stream with you. And have a little pride celebration, too.”

“Hah — yeah, of course. I — yeah. For sure. I’m glad you came. It was fun,” Pat says. It would be _so much_ easier if he was less easily tongue-tied. He’s never been good at keeping secrets. He’s only managed to stay closeted for so long because he wouldn’t even so much as admit it to himself. And he only keeps his witch nonsense a secret because it’s been such a small part of his life since he — well, since he left home for college, and stopped being around magic all the time.

Huh.

He — he could tell them. Probably. Well, that he’s gay. Not the witch thing, that remains on lock. They both heavily implied — and they’re nice, and cool, and they probably wouldn’t say anything —

“Oh my god, we could have made the cookies in pride flag colors, that would’ve been so fun, what a missed opportunity!” Jenna says, as she’s standing and her eyes pass over the forgotten plate on the coffee table.

“You’d need a lot of food coloring, probably,” Pat says.

“Oh, I’m sure it would be a whole project, but you haven’t seen Jenna on a baking spree, Pat Gill. It is a sight to behold. Kind of terrifying. Very impressive,” says Brian.

Jenna looks pleased by this, and then her eyes go wide with an idea. “I could make a _cake_ and I could make the inside bi colors, I’d only need three layers. I’m gonna do it. Tomorrow. Definitely.”

“You have to share with me, legally,” Brian says.

“Only if you help! Just ‘cause you’re bi doesn’t mean you’re automatically entitled to my labor, Brian,” she says, affecting affront. “You can both come and then you can _both_ share.”

“Could make the frosting rainbow,” Pat says, around the tight anxious knot in his chest. “Y’know. For solidarity.”

Oh _god_ his heart is racing, if it’s going to be like this every time he even so much as implies anything to anyone he wants a goddamn _refund_ —

But Jenna just beams and says, “Yes! I’ll have to stop at the store for stuff anyway, I’ll get all the colors.”

Brian is looking at Pat intently, and then when he sees Pat look at him he looks away quickly, in the most incriminating way there is. But he smiles at Pat, while Jenna is distracted looking for her hoodie. Pat doesn’t know how to interpret this. He feels his face heating up and hopes Brian can’t tell.

Jenna unearths her hoodie from the couch cushions. She glances at the time, curses, and then says, “I really gotta go — sorry, guys, see you!”

“Gonna turn into a pumpkin?” Brian says.

Jenna’s already out the door as she shouts, “Yes, obviously!” back over her shoulder.

Pat exchanges a look with Brian.

“She’s just like that, I dunno. Always in a hurry,” Brian says, with a good-natured smile. “I should probably head out too, honestly. I doubt you want to keep me here all night.”

Pat stomps down any traitorous thoughts before they can even so much as start.

(He has a lot of practice at this.)

He laughs, instead. “Probably.” And then he pauses. Hesitates.

Brian must see something in his expression, because he raises a questioning eyebrow.

He doesn’t know why he feels so moved, right now, to tell someone — especially Brian, who he’s only very recently met — who’s also _overwhelmingly_ cute and charming and funny, exactly the type of guy Pat would never have a chance in hell with — and he doesn’t usually get swept up in things like _sentiment_ or _seasonal celebrations_ but fuck, this is the first time he’s had this, and it’s. He’s never had a community before, not for this. And Brian and Jenna both nearly outright said they’re both bi. And. There’s this roaring in his ears, like happens when he’s about to say something important. So. He might as well.

“This is probably weird,” Pat hedges, looking somewhere above Brian’s right shoulder, “but I guess I — haven’t really told anyone — well like one person — but like —” He sighs at himself, for stuttering.

“Go on, it’s okay,” Brian says.

Pat still can’t look at him, or even anywhere in the realm of his face actually, but can’t find anywhere for his eyes to land and it’s fucking embarrassing to have to close his eyes before he can make the words “I’m gay” come out of his mouth, but —

Oh.

Well.

He’s said it, now. Can’t undo that.

He stares fixedly at the ground, not sure why he is so goddamn terrified of looking at Brian right now.

“Hey, that’s great,” says Brian. His voice is so very gentle. “I, um. I’m bi — I think I probably made that pretty clear, hah — but. There’s a pretty big queer community here. Um. If that’s a word you’re okay using.”

“I think so?” He hasn’t really thought about it.

“Okay. Cool. Yeah. But, like, seriously, this area’s attracted a bunch of us, for whatever reason? Dunno why. It’s pretty chill, though. There’s not a single person around who wouldn’t be cool with it, so don’t worry about that, okay?” A pause. Pat dares a glance at his face; Brian’s expression is just as careful and gentle as his tone. “But you don’t have to tell anyone before you’re ready, if you don’t want to be out, or anything. I won’t tell anyone unless you say it’s okay.”

“Thank you,” Pat says quietly.

“Of course. Thank you for telling me. I, uh. I know that’s not easy, especially at first. Believe me when I say, at least that much gets less scary with practice.”

“I sure hope so,” Pat mumbles, a little wry, and Brian smiles at that. “Christ, everyone was talking about pride month in the chat and I felt my heart fuckin’ stop for a second. I’m — I’m super not out, like, at all. As in, I’ve only told one person — well, two, now — and she told one person and that’s it. That’s all the people who know.”

“Jeez Louise,” Brian says, softly, and Pat cannot believe that he has managed to make a silly phrase sound so sincere. “That’s — that sounds really hard. Keeping it to yourself for so long.”

“Oh,” says Pat. “No, I, um. It was, uh. A recent realization.” He tries not to wince visibly and does not think that he succeeds.

“Oh! Oh, shit, I’m sorry. Gosh, that sounds hard too, though. I’ve known for, like, ever, I can’t even imagine.”

“I think if I was any more introspective, I might’ve figured it out sooner. But, uh, I didn’t. And made a real mess of things in the process. But that’s — y’know. I guess that happens, sometimes. It’s — less of a mess now. But I wish I’d got my head out of my ass before all that.”

“Not to pry — and you’re well within your rights to tell me to fuck off if you don’t want to answer — but is that the, uh, what’d you say, emotional mess you were referencing, about your move?”

“Got it in one,” Pat says, his lips twisting into a wry, pained smile that’s closer to a grimace. “I — yeah, I super don’t want to get deep into it right now because I really only just managed to even kind of pull my shit together again, but. It sure was a hot mess.”

“Gosh, yeah. I know a lot of people who realized they weren’t straight after high school and stuff, and — it’s fucking hard. Like, wow, time to learn a new dating culture and figure that out? Man. That’s stressful as hell.”

“God, you’re telling me,” Pat says, running a hand backwards through his hair. “I don’t even want to _think_ about that, ugh, straight dating’s bad enough.”

Brian laughs. “To be fair, I bet it’ll be a little more fun with partners you’re actually attracted to.”

“I should hope so. Though, I mean, I’m already thirty, I’m pretty behind on the whole thing —”

“Nah, Pat, you’re totally fine. No such thing as running behind. You do things on your own time, and it’ll work out the way it’s gonna work out.”

The smile Brian gives Pat, as he says that, is actually genuinely reassuring in a way that Pat didn’t even know he needed.

“Thank you,” Pat says. “Really. I mean it. Thanks for listening, and for hanging out, and for streaming with me. I appreciate it a lot.”

“‘Course, Pat Gill,” Brian says, and his tone is so very gentle again. “Anytime. I mean it. And you better come to Jenna’s and save me from being the target of all her energy.”

Pat laughs. “All right, okay. I think I can manage that. Wait, except I don’t know where anyone else lives even though you all know my exact goddamn coordinates, apparently.”

“I can text it to you. Or give her your number and have her text it to you? I do, uh, need your number to achieve that, though. Unless you want me to make a Twitch account and figure out how to DM you on there,” Brian adds, with a little smirk.

“That sounds more complicated than it needs to be, I think,” Pat says.

“Here, gimme your phone,” Brian says, making grabby hands at Pat, who duly pulls it out of his pocket, opens it to the “add contact” page, and hands it over. Brian sticks his tongue out a little as he types, which is cute, and then hands it back. He’s sent a message to himself that says ‘hewwo im pat gill and i think bdg is the coolest.’

Pat laughs and shakes his head at a grinning Brian, who seems very proud of himself for his silliness. He even went to the trouble of battling the auto-capitalization to write in all lowercase, which is an aesthetic choice Pat can respect and appreciate.

“I should probably head out, but I’ll see you tomorrow?” Brian says.

“Okay. Sounds good.”

Brian gets to his feet and goes to the door; Pat trails behind him. He wants to say more, to thank him again, but that would be too weird, too genuine, too overbearing.

“Night, Patrick,” Brian says cheerfully, shrugging his jacket on.

“Night, Brian,” Pat echoes, as Brian walks out the door. Brian shoots a smile at him over his shoulder, dazzling and lovely, and Pat hopes whatever expression he makes back doesn’t look too stupid.

He feels — weirdly energized, as he gets ready for bed. Jittery, but not in an altogether bad way. In a way that sort of feels like relief, and in a way that sort of feels like anxiety, and in a way that sort of feels grateful. And you know? He thinks he kinda likes the feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was anyone else there for the chaos of the may 31/june 1 stream on pizza underscore suplex dot twitch dot tv because it was fucking incredible
> 
> also sorry monster hunter world is my other special interest at the moment so i WILL talk about it in my fics and you can't stop me!
> 
> aaaaaand tomorrow there will be a SPECIAL BONUS upload in this au! >:]


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you may have noticed that the chapter count dropped from 11 to 9 -- don't worry, there's not any content that's been deleted! i just merged some chapters because they were both really short and worked better together, yeehaw. (i maybe should have looked that over better in the first place lol) so now you get a BIG EXCITING CHAPTER instead of a little short one!

The next day is Friday; he wakes up a bit after noon and checks his phone to find a series of texts.

9:45 AM | [Unknown Number]  
hey hey hey it’s jenna stoeber! you can come over whenever! :) i live like a block from the library, let me get you my address

9:46 AM | [Unknown Number]  
_[Unknown Number] shared location with you._

10:37 AM | Brian David Gilbert  
where aaaaaaare you

11:21 AM | Brian David Gilbert  
are you still asleep lazybones or are u ditching us i got all the rainbow stuff ready and everything u will be SO SAD if you miss this

11:50 AM | Allegra Frank  
Ur stream was so good last night. That Brian guy is so cute :eyes:  
Both of them seemed really nice tho!! I’m happy for u!

12:03 PM | Thomas Biery  
legs just showed me like a zillion clips from your stream yesterday i think she is very happy that you have obtained some friends  
i am too fwiw but i’m not gonna nerd out abt it

12:15 PM | Brian David Gilbert  
i cannot believe anyone in the entire world sleeps this late on the regular if you are not awake in an hour i will be forced to admit you are ignoring me  
which is fair im sorry if i’m pressuring you if you don’t want to come you don’t have to  
but we are gonna wait till like 1 before we start just in case  
also simone might be coming over too? who knows. i’ll keep u posted

 

Damn. Pat has never felt so popular.

 

12:24 PM | Patrick Gill  
I did in fact just wake up sorry to disappoint. I’ll be there eventually but probably not by 1. You can start without me I won’t be offended

12:25 PM | Brian David Gilbert  
no we can wait!! the ultimatum was in case u were gonna not show up LOL i will be patient i promise

 

Pat takes a shortcut — well, he takes the same route, but faster, by flying until he gets near the edge of the dense line of trees. He took too long in the shower, anyway, by virtue of kind-of-dissociating under the hot water, and he doesn’t want to keep them waiting any longer than he already has. He hops back into his human form after double-checking no one’s afoot, and then it’s a short walk to Jenna’s.

It’s a cute little place, with a garden and everything. Simone answers the door, and Pat realizes he hasn’t checked his phone so the whole goddamn town could be crammed into Jenna’s house and he wouldn’t even know.

But it’s just her and Jenna and Brian and someone who Jenna is shouting to, out of sight, to come be _friendly, goddammit, stop hiding in the bathroom and say hi to Pat!_

Pat expects it to be a dog or something, from the tone, but as it turns out, it’s Griffin. He has the really fashion-forward look of a hoodie tied around his waist and a shirt with the guy from _Fallout_ on it.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing yourself on your shirt,” Pat says, before he thinks better of it, and Griffin scowls at him.

“That’s not even the first time I’ve heard that one _today,”_ he grumbles, and Brian snickers. “It looks more like Brian, anyway.”

“Hey!”

Jenna steps in before they can dissolve into bickering about which one of them looks more like a generic white man (“you both do”) and waves everyone off into the kitchen. Pat is tasked with mixing colors for frosting, alongside Brian.

“Oh my god. I just realized. I think this is a bi party?” Simone says. “Is that why you invited all of us, Jenna? So we can all participate in the bi cake?”

“Well, Brian invited Pat,” Jenna says. “But yes.”

Pat very dedicatedly stares at the frosting he has started to mix into blue and says, “I’m gay, actually,” for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, and this time his voice doesn’t even shake.

“Oh, cool!” Simone chirps. A pause. Pat still doesn’t look up. His shoulders are _tense_ and he hopes she can’t tell, that she can’t see the way he’s got his hackles up a little bit about it, he knows she didn’t mean it, he’s just — “Sorry for putting you on the spot like that, shit, that was pretty rude.”

“You’re fine,” Pat says, chancing a look in her direction. She’s smiling at him, a little nervous, a little wry; the only other person that appears to be paying any more than incidental attention is Brian, who is watching Pat studiously. Pat thinks he is concerned, but it is hard to tell. But he manages a nervous smile back at Simone, who seems relieved that he isn’t mad, and goes back to her task.

Brian, who is currently mixing green frosting, leans a bit closer to Pat, oh-so-casually, like he’s only looking at what color Pat’s creation is turning into.

“You ‘kay?” Brian says, so so quietly.

“Mhm.” His hands aren’t even shaking, really. Well, not a lot, anyway. Then, because he apparently hates himself: “No one — like — made a face or anything?” he says, barely more than a breath.

“No. ‘Course not. Literally everyone else in this room is bi, you are so totally completely fine and surrounded by people who get it,” Brian says, matching Pat’s hushed volume. He adds, at a more normal volume, “Aw, shit, yours is way brighter than mine, we’re gonna have to coordinate for saturation.”

“Add another drop of color or something,” Pat says, and sets down the blue to start on a different color. “Maybe we should standardize how much we put in.”

“Jenna! Brian and Pat are doing frosting math,” Griffin whines. “They’re saying words like _standardize_ and _coordinate,_ tell them to stop.”

“Sorry, Griffin, in this house we like to make sure things look good,” Jenna says. She has flour in her hair and on the tip of her nose. “They have my permission to do all the frosting statistics they’d like.”

“Hell yeah. I love statistics,” Brian says.

“Do you really?” Simone says.

“No. But I do love to spite Griffin.”

“That’s not very nice,” says Simone. Brian grins at her, and at Griffin too, as the latter affects a scowl that Pat is starting to think may be more put-on than anything. It’s not even very convincing, because his eyes and the corners of his mouth look like he’s fighting a smile. And when Brian glances back at Pat, he winks at him before returning to his artistry.

Pat suddenly has the overwhelming urge to drop everything and pull out his phone and frantically text Allegra _oh my god I think I actually have friends here now for real for real they’re all laughing with me and not at me and they’re nice and I came out to them and we’re baking a cake and I think things are gonna be okay????????_

But he doesn’t, because he has frosting on his hands and food coloring besides.

 

Brian and Pat line up their finished cups of frosting and study them in tandem. Brian puts his hands on his hips and pulls a thoughtful expression.

“I think I overcompensated,” he says. Indeed, the yellow he’s mixed is practically highlighter-colored, and the orange and green aren’t much calmer.

“I’m sure you’ve never done that before,” Simone says, with a side-eyed look at Brian.

“Wow, rude!” Brian gasps, wounded. “Patrick, you see what I have to deal with?”

“Just mix more white in,” Pat says.

“We don’t have any more. That’s all the frosting,” Brian says. He has a spectacular pout. It prevents Pat from spouting off some inappropriate unnecessary comment, like he might’ve if — well, if he knew his audience better, or if he was any less attentive of his brain-to-mouth filter than he is at the moment.

“I guess our artistic vision is ruined, then. Sorry, Brian,” Pat says, deadpan. Brian puts a hand to his chest and makes his very most tragic expression.

“Will both of you shut up and stop being such drama queens!” Simone says.

“No,” they both say at the same time, and then burst into laughter.

“Simone, we’re doomed, they’re _enabling each other,”_ Griffin stage-whispers.

“I always knew it would come to this. I knew someday Brian would find the straight man for his comedy act,” Jenna says, as she sets the timer on the oven.

“Betcha didn’t expect him to be gay,” Pat quips, and — oh — that makes everyone laugh? Which is why he’d said it, because he knows his audience at least that much. But. That’s new. And Brian looks so goddamn delighted, maybe even proud, and Pat should feel patronized by it but he doesn’t, he’s just happy someone _understands._

“Guess we’ve gotta take this show on the road, then,” Brian says. “Bye, guys.”

Brian marches off to the living room and flops elegantly down on the couch. Pat watches him, and raises an eyebrow when Brian lifts his head up to look at him.

“Pat Gill, I can’t believe this, you’ve left me hanging already —”

“I’m coming, I’m coming, hold your goddamn horses,” Pat says, finally tracking down a napkin to wipe the stray frosting off his hands.

Brian is taking up the entire couch as a result of his dramatic faceplant, so Pat stands awkwardly for a second, and has just decided to sit on the floor when Brian sits up and yanks Pat down by the arm to sit next to him. Simone joins them, a moment later, and perches on the armrest.

“Did you convince Jonah and Laura to come tonight?” Simone says to Brian, and Pat takes the opportunity to fish his phone out of his pocket, send a message to that group chat he has with Legs and Thomas, the one that’s sort of gone dormant in the wake of everything.

3:33 PM | Patrick Gill  
I just came out to like 4 ppl and they were all like so nice abt it????

3:34 PM | Allegra Frank  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

3:35 PM | Thomas Biery  
FUCK YEA im so glad that rules  
are the ppl from ur stream there

3:35 PM | Patrick Gill  
Yeah  
They invited ppl over to bake a cake for pride month ig. Also the cake is bi colors. And someone was like oh is everyone here bi is that why you invited all of us? And I was like i’m gay actually and it was like. 100% chill and i didn’t perish even a little bit

3:36 PM | Allegra Frank  
I AM SO PROUD OF U

3:36 PM | Thomas Biery  
our little boy is growing up

3:37 PM | Patrick Gill  
I am several years older than both of you

3:37 PM | Thomas Biery  
i stand by what i said  
also what are you doing texting us when youre hanging out with people GO HAVE FUN

 

When Pat tunes back into the conversation, Griffin and Jenna have joined them in the living room. Jenna — who also has a flair for the dramatic — is lying on the floor in the middle of the room. Griffin is sitting on Brian’s other side; Brian has had to actually sit up and scoot closer to Pat instead of claiming the entire left half of the couch for his own.

“No, it’s so dumb, I’m allergic to chocolate,” Jenna is saying. “I won’t lie, I’ve been known to take the suffering just to have it every once in a while, but it makes me so sick.”

“That’s just about the saddest thing I ever heard get said,” Griffin says.

“I know!” Jenna says. “I lead a really tragic existence.”

“Can we get an F in the chat,” Pat mumbles, absentmindedly. Brian elbows him in the ribs, not hard. “What was that for!”

“No gamers allowed,” Brian says. “Griffin, you have to leave too. It’s the law.”

“Oh, thank god, I’m free,” Griffin says, and starts to stand, but Brian grabs his shoulder, laughing, _no stoppit you dumbass,_ and Griffin laughs too and collapses easily back into the seat. So their teasing is pulled-punch and fond; Griffin’s smile is warm and genuine and makes Pat realize that he has a real sweet round face, with fucking _rosy cheeks_ in real life — Pat had previously figured that was a literary construct — and sea-green eyes behind those black-framed glasses.

Huh. Griffin’s cute. And Brian’s cute, too, but Pat knew that already, that’s a well-established fact of life. Is this going to be a thing? Is he going to notice, now that he’s aware of it, when guys are cute? That’s awfully inconvenient. It’s just — huh. Brian’s hair looks soft, maybe a little in need of a haircut, and the image of his hazel eyes in the lamplight last night won’t leave Pat’s mind. He’s only a couple inches shorter than Pat, and when he grins up at him it makes Pat’s heartbeat stutter.

Yeah. That’s really inconvenient.

He’s distracted from his ruminating, though, when the oven timer goes off and everyone gets herded back into the kitchen again. There are far too many hands for the situation, so Jenna recruits Griffin and Griffin alone to help her: “He has the steadiest hands. Simone, I love you, but I do not trust you to drop an entire layer of cake on the ground.”

“That’s fair,” Simone says, sinking into a kitchen chair. Brian does the same, and Pat gets with the program and sits down next to him.

The real chaos ensues when Jenna lets them frost the cake; she makes the executive decision to give everyone a color and let them go wild. Simone tries for about ten seconds to organize everyone into making an actual rainbow, before realizing that this is an impossible task.

All things considered, though, it turns out nice. They haven’t mixed the colors too horribly, there aren’t too many weird muddy-colored patches of people battling over territory, it’s not too lumpy, it’s just bright. Jenna looks pleased with it, and shoos everyone out of the way to take a picture of it. And then waves everyone back in to get a picture of all of them. And then carefully slices the cake to reveal the perfectly stacked colors inside to take a picture of that, too. And then ignores everyone as there is a battle of wills for the order in which they get to take their own slices as she studiously uploads it to Instagram, presumably.

“Pat, you good if I tag you in this? I don’t wanna out you or anything if it shows up on your profile.”

“Uh. Just, like, maybe make it have plausible deniability? Like don’t, y’know, specify. But I don’t mind otherwise.”

 

**thejenna**

[griffinmcelroy] [doomquasar] [briamgilbert] [pizza_suplex]

• • •

**thejenna** celebrating pride month w/the maine crew!

 

They traipse off to trivia night as a unit, on account of it’s right down the street and around the corner. Justin is outside smoking again and Griffin marches up to him to squabble with him about it, probably. There’s two other people talking to Justin, who promptly clear out when Griffin approaches.

The woman looks incredibly, disarmingly like Brian. This is unquestionably the sister Laura he has heard about. Their hair is the same color, their eyes the same hazel, and though she is tiny and her face is more delicately built, their features are alarmingly similar too, with big eyes and twin smiles. The man with her, who Pat deduces is probably Jonah, is clearly not of the Gilbert brood. He’s big: he’s probably a good four inches taller than Pat, who is plenty tall, with brown hair and a beard and a serious expression. He’s handsome, if not really Pat’s type — 

Oh, god, he has a _type_ now.

“Laura, Jonah, this is Pat! Pat, this is my sister, and my best friend,” Brian says.

“Nice to meet you,” Pat says, and Laura grins. Fucking hell, she looks like Brian so _much._

“You too! I have heard so much about you already,” she says. Pat raises an eyebrow at Brian, and he swears Brian’s face goes a little pink.

“It’s not often we get someone new around here, okay,” Brian says, and Pat laughs.

“Especially not men around Brian’s age,” Simone says, as she brushes past them to go inside, and Brian gives the most affronted yelp of _shut up!_ that Pat has ever heard. Oh, he is blushing now, for sure. That’s interesting. Huh.

They follow Simone inside. The pink-haired bartender — Chelsea, if Pat remembers correctly — waves at them.

“Have you guys seen Justin?” she says.

“He’s outside. Griffin is yelling at him for smoking,” Jenna says.

“Oh, god. I can’t wait until Sydnee gets back so he will behave himself. When is that, anyway?” Chelsea says.

“Next week, I think?” says Simone. “I haven’t seen her in forever, I hope she tags along.”

“Me too. Can one of you grab Justin? He’s supposed to be running the thing and he can’t do that if he’s busy being chewed out by his brothers.”

“I’ll go,” says Pat, who is closest to the door.

“Thanks! You’re Patrick, right? I’m Chelsea.”

“Yeah. It’s good to meet you,” he says, and gives her a smile that’s as friendly as he can manage before he ducks back outside.

Griffin and Justin both turn when they see the door open, clearly in the midst of a heated conversation that they don’t especially want to have overheard.

“Chelsea wants to see you, Justin,” Pat says, a little meekly. He discovers that he has not, in point of fact, seen Griffin actually upset until now. He looks verifiably pissed.

“Okay. Griff, your hoodie’s dragging on the ground, you’re gonna get it all dirty. Stop wearing it around your waist like that,” Justin says, as a parting remark. He brushes past Pat and goes inside. He’s wearing that awful jacket again, flashy and brightly-colored.

Griffin sighs, as the door closes. Pat watches the anger visibly drain out of him, leaving exhaustion and useless frustration behind.

“What’s all that about?” Pat asks, tentative.

“He’s being a dumbass,” Griffin says, draping his sweater over his arm. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into him. Like, yeah, he’s a stubborn asshole sometimes, all three of us are, but he’s never — like — _mean._ But he’s been such a grouch lately? And he won’t say what’s going on. And we all — I mean, the three of us pretty much tell each other everything.” Griffin’s expression twists into frustrated concern. “You’d think if he was having an issue, he wouldn’t be so public about it. I mean, we all knew he actually didn’t quit, he was not hiding it as well as he thought he was, but why give up the pretense? Ugh. I just don’t know.” He pauses, winces. “Sorry for, uh, for dumping all that on you.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” Pat says. “I get it. I hope whatever’s going on gets better soon.”

“Me too,” Griffin says, with a deep sigh. “Come on, let’s go inside. I think it’s gonna rain.”

 

Whatever’s going on with Justin, it seems to have evaporated by the time he’s set everything up for the trivia night. Pat is sitting between Brian and Simone again, and he can hear Justin humming a little cheerful tune as he writes the categories on the whiteboard. Travis has arrived, by now; Ashley is absent, but no one seems terribly concerned by this turn of events.

Pat is a lot less nervous, this time, a lot less overwhelmed by new faces now that he knows they’re friendly. Brian steals the pencil from Pat and starts doodling a little nature scene at the bottom of their sheet of paper. Pat watches, absentmindedly, as trees spring out of the end of his pencil, little flowers and blades of grass. His fingernails are short and painted a glossy amber, and there’s a black dot on his thumbnail that upon closer inspection reveals itself to be a tiny, perfectly painted bug. It is such a charming detail that Pat is completely distracted by it until Brian hands the pencil back.

Pat draws a bird flying above the trees, upon reclaiming the writing instrument. Brian smiles at that, and takes the pencil again. They trade back and forth between questions, until the paper is covered in more doodles than it is answers. Some part of himself doesn’t want to give it up to Justin, but Brian hands it over before Pat can even consider that thought further. Justin looks it over and raises his eyebrows, but he smiles at them.

Justin, as it turns out, is actually quite entertaining, even charming. He laughs at his own jokes before he can even finish them, half the time, and his face goes all red when he does. He’s nearly as prone to breaking into sudden song as Brian is, though his selections are mainly limited to Jimmy Buffett. And when he’s not arguing, his smile comes easily and often, with the same boyish charm as Griffin. 

The group actually makes it through the second round, this time, without getting distracted by gossiping, and Brian and Pat lose catastrophically because they are too busy collaborating on artwork to actually answer the questions. This is not, as it happens, actually troublesome, because Laura and Jonah tie with Griffin and Travis and the former win the tiebreaker. Brian looks more happy that his sister and best friend have won than he probably would have if it was his own self.

Jonah is sitting at Brian’s right, and Pat’s hardly heard him say a word the whole night. His voice is a low, quiet rumble; he mainly directs his words at Laura, since Brian is easily caught up in conversation with anyone who so much as looks at him. Pat can’t make out anything Jonah says, sitting three seats down as he is, especially with Jonah turned away towards Laura. He looks vaguely uncomfortable with the whole situation, which Pat wholly empathizes with. It’s hard to be shy in a big group.

“Hey, Bri? Me and Jonah are gonna head out. He’s getting a migraine, so I’m gonna walk him home. You ready to leave yet?” Laura says.

“Nah, I’m gonna stay, I think. Are you gonna stick around, Pat?” says Brian.

He can’t say he’d mind staying to talk to Brian, if that was all he was doing, but he’s had more social interaction in the past twenty-four hours than he has in weeks, and though that’s kind of pathetic he can’t help feeling exhausted from it. “I might head out too, actually,” he says.

He feels bad, at the brief flash of disappointment across Brian’s face, and he resolves to text him once he’s home. But for the moment, he echoes Laura and Jonah in their goodbyeing and leaves alongside them.

“I think we’re going in opposite directions, Jonah’s out that way. Sorry to leave you to walk home by yourself,” Laura says.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” Pat says, privately grateful that he’ll be able to fly home instead. The walk is a pain in the ass. “I hope you feel better, Jonah.”

“Thanks,” Jonah says, in maybe the first clear declaration Pat’s heard from him all night.

They part ways, after that, and Pat is grateful for the hushed whisper of the wind between the trees. He’s glad to have found a group of people that will be nice to him, but it makes him appreciate being by himself, too. He takes wing, after double-checking that he’s alone, and glides through the nighttime scene.

He squawks out an involuntary, startled caw when he sees a large black shape moving through the trees, while he’s perched on a branch to catch his breath, and it pauses in its movement at the sound. He can make out a muzzle, tilting up, eyes reflecting the starlight. Oh, Christ, he’s just a fucking bird, and this is some big ol’ canine —

But it doesn’t move towards him, just watches him. It’s fucking _big,_ whatever it is — but it gives a sort of yip, a sound he’d expect from a fox, not the wolf that he assumed it was. The sound seems — almost friendly, if he didn’t know better. He stares back. His heart is still racing at the scare — his heartbeat is fast anyway as a bird, and worse when he’s startled, which is a highly unpleasant feeling.

It waits for a moment, almost as if expecting a response, but when Pat doesn’t do anything but stand frozen on the branch, it turns and disappears into the brush. A long, thick, strangely shaped tail is the last thing he sees. It almost looks like a bunch of tails, but that’s not possible, so it’s probably a trick of the light. Or darkness, as it were.

He takes off again and hurries the fuck home, half-wondering if there wasn’t something to Jenna’s joke about werewolves in the forest.

But werewolves certainly aren’t real. He’d know about it if they were. It was just a weird fox. A weird wolf. Something like that.

He’s jumpy, though, as he locks his door and gets ready for bed. Unsettled. He’s always more easily startled as a bird, it’s a lot to handle complex emotion in such a tiny little body, and it’s been known to bother him after he changes back too.

He pulls his blankets up over his head and turns his white noise up a smidge louder and tries to focus on that noise, and nothing else, as he tries to sleep.

 

It’s raining hard, the next morning. Well. Afternoon, because Pat has rarely awoken before noon since he left his job. He should probably make an effort, now that he thinks of it. Maybe start setting an alarm for at least midmorning.

He would go on a walk, or something, except it’s fucking _pouring._ It’s depressing even looking outside. And in a stunning turn of events, no one’s texted him since he fell asleep.

(This is not, in fact, surprising at all.)

So he has the whole day to himself, and he doesn’t want to bother anyone, and he doesn’t want to go anywhere, but he doesn’t want to continue to be a sad lump on his bed.

He moves to the living room to be a sad lump on his couch, instead. He’s just made the decision to find a game to play when he hears a sound outside the back door. He hops to his feet and makes his way over — cautiously, still feeling weirdly on edge from his experience last night — and peeks outside.

There is a brown tabby cat sitting outside on his porch, yowling its head off as though Pat had accidentally shut him outside in the rain. But he doesn’t have a cat — he’s never had a cat — but he opens the door anyway.

The cat bolts inside, but doesn’t go far. It shakes itself off and sits down on the kitchen floor and starts to lick primly at the fur on its shoulder.

“Uh. Hello,” Pat says. The cat looks up at him and blinks. He has big, sad-looking green eyes. “Are you a witch, or?”

The cat just looks at him; he doesn’t get a nod, which a witch probably would do, so Pat figures he’s in the clear. It’s pretty much the cardinal rule, to disclose that if asked. He kneels, cautiously, afraid of scaring him, but the cat walks right up to him and bonks his face into Pat’s hand. He smiles and pets his head, and the cat immediately starts to purr.

“I’m gonna get you a towel,” Pat says. The cat, again, makes no sign of understanding this, instead continuing to rub his face against Pat’s hand. Pat picks him up and he goes perfectly willingly, still purring, as Pat carries him to the bathroom and plops him on the counter. He’s muddy, and Pat doesn’t really want him tracking it everywhere, so he regretfully turns the water on in the bathtub, makes sure it’s not too cold or too warm. The cat continues to watch him, calmly sitting where Pat has left him.

“Gonna have to clean you up, sorry, bud. No dirty pawprints in the house.”

The cat does not enjoy the process of being rinsed off. But he doesn’t fight, doesn’t even try to hiss or scratch at Pat, just flattens his ears back and narrows his eyes until he is clean. He seems to enjoy it much more when Pat rubs him dry with a towel.

Pat’s heard of witches finding familiars at unexpected times — creatures that appear in their lives as though they’ve adopted the witch, not the other way around. They’re always too smart for their own good, and have a little bit of intrinsic magical ability, or at least sensitivity. There’s absolutely no way that this isn’t the situation here. His sister has a hedgehog. He supposes it’s about time that this happened to him.

“I guess you’re gonna be sticking around, huh?”

The cat gives a _mrrow._

“How d’you feel about the name Charlie? I always thought that was a good name for a cat.”

Charlie the cat, who probably can only understand Pat a little bit, just winds around Pat’s ankles.

Well. Now he’s got things to do today. He hates to drive in the awful winding dirt roads in the rain, especially since they don’t make any _sense_ and it’s like three times farther to drive into town than it is to walk, but now he’s got to get cat supplies.

Charlie curls up on Pat’s couch, already making himself at home, and Pat pets his ears before he heads outside into the downpour.

 

He runs into Simone, as he’s putting his bags into his car, trying to duck out of the rain. She is, once again, totally unbothered by the weather.

“Hey, Pat! What’s up?”

“I, uh. I found a cat. And got some stuff for him. Because I guess he’s my cat now.”

“Oh my god! What’d you name him?”

“Charlie.”

“That’s adorable. I was gonna invite you to Ashley’s, but you probably need to get stuff set up for him, huh?”

Barring the weirdness of Simone inviting him to someone else’s house — which, now that he thinks of it, seems to basically be the norm with this crowd — he appreciates the offer, and tells her as much.

“You don’t have my number, do you? Here, gimme your phone. If you want, after you’re done with all that, text me and see if we’re still hanging out. I’m texting myself so I have your number back.”

She has sent herself the winking emoji with its tongue sticking out, which Pat will now have to live with in his recent emojis forever. Unfortunate.

 

He doesn’t get a chance to join the party, though, because he’s hardly finished getting everything set up for Charlie when someone knocks on his door.

It’s Griffin, who looks fucking _tired._ He is drenched, because it’s still raining, and he’s holding a six-pack of beer like an offering and he says, “Hey, Pat.”

Pat holds the door open for him to come inside. “I’ll never understand how you guys invite yourselves over everywhere.” He’s not annoyed, though, and hopes that translates.

“Yeah, well. Give people your number, then they’ll text first. But hey, at least I brought drinks. I mean. I can go, if you want me to. It’s just — everyone’s at Ash’s, and I, well. Kind of need someone impartial, here, and you don’t really know anyone all that well yet.”

“That’s not concerning,” Pat says, deadpan, and Griffin gives him a sort of sheepish smile.

“It’s just kind of weird and I don’t want to start drama. Can I sit, or are you kicking me out?”

“C’mon, of course I’m not, just don’t drip all over my shit.”

Griffin plonks the drinks onto the coffee table and peels off his hoodie. His mouth presses into a thin line, considering something, and after side-eyeing Pat for a moment he goes to hang it up on the coat rack by the door. Weird, but okay.

Charlie the cat strolls through the living room to investigate the new events, and when Pat sits down he hops up onto the couch to curl up between him and Griffin.

“Aw, I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“He’s new. His name’s Charlie.”

“Dang, he’s friendly, especially for a new guy,” Griffin says, as Charlie headbutts Griffin’s hand to get him to pet his ears. He’s already purring away at the attention.

They weather through some more stilted small talk, both of them too awkward to actually manage to cut to the chase, until Griffin finally sighs and takes a can off the coffee table and hands one to Pat.

“Oh, time for the real shit, huh?” Pat says.

“Whatever, birdbrain,” Griffin says, with no malice in his tone, but —

“Wow, rude!”

“I didn’t mean it _mean,_ it’s just, you’re a crow, you’re a bird, that’s the joke — sorry, yeah, I guess that was kind of —”

_“What.”_

_What?_ How did he — Pat’s been so fucking _careful_ —

“Dude, you’ve got the same magic signature as that crow I saw outside the bar, it’s not a hard leap to make.”

“What?”

Griffin groans. “Right, fuck, I always forget that your folk can’t tell that shit.”

“My folk?” _What?_

“Aw, man, I’m not supposed to — whatever, I’ve already stepped in it. It makes everything easier if I just tell you, it’ll give better context anyway. My brothers and I are selkies.”

“You’re _what?!”_

“Chill, dude. There’s tons of us. We keep it on the down-low, there’s been contention in the past, apparently, so we stay pretty undercover. Most people don’t even think we exist. Apparently that even extends to witches.” Griffin raises his eyebrows at Pat.

“So it’s just the three of you? Or are there more? Here, I mean.”

“Yeah, we’re the only selkies in town,” Griffin says. “Plus Syd. Also, for the record, if you touch my hoodie I will kick your ass, and that’s a goddamn promise.”

Ah. Right. Pat knows that much of the lore, at least. “Of course. Wait. Oh my god. Does that mean Justin’s awful jacket —”

“Yeah. It’s so bad, right? Asshole’s got no taste,” Griffin says, fondly. “He could change it if he wanted to, but he won’t, because anytime anyone implies it’s ugly he gets more stubborn about it.”

Pat laughs. Then pauses. “So, wait, if selkies are a thing, does that mean… there’s other stuff that’s real, too?”

“Oh, yeah.” Griffin pauses, studies him. “I’m trusting you not to crack this wide open, alright? I’m not strictly supposed to be telling anyone, but, well, I’ve already gotten in this deep. I won’t say that, like, all the mythology in all the world throughout all time is real, but there’s definitely some solid shit out there. Most everything’s pretty benevolent, though. A lot of us just merge with society, honestly, just like you witches do. Or fuck off into private communities with each other or live on their own, if they can’t blend in with humans for whatever reason. It’s not a bad deal, all things considered.”

“Sounds like it,” Pat says. Man, he wouldn’t mind being able to escape into the sea, occasionally. “Do a lot of people here know?”

“I would say a fair number do,” Griffin says carefully. “To be perfectly honest, the three of us are not exactly the best secret-keepers. Plus, we don’t have a house. So that’s not very subtle. But it’s secluded enough here and a close-knit enough community that it’s alright if people know, as long as they’re not spreading it around.”

“That seems reasonable. For the record, I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good. I figured you wouldn’t, you’ve been sneaky enough about the witch thing anyway.”

“Have you told anyone? About me, I mean?”

“Nah. I’m not about to spill the beans on anyone’s deal to anyone else. Well, I guess, except my brothers’, but I think that would have probably been a reasonable leap of logic to make even if I hadn’t mentioned it. We’re littermates, y’know? Like, Justin’s the oldest, I’m the baby, but that hardly matters when you’re all the same technical age. We’ve been pretty much inseparable our whole lives.”

“That’s pretty sweet,” Pat says. “My sister — well, she went more magical than I did. As a career, I mean. She kept studying with my parents, but I moved out. I’ve never — I don’t have a natural talent, like her. I have to work really hard for it. The most I really do anymore is turn into a bird for a little bit.”

“You’ve got a whole magic room, I can feel it,” Griffin says. “Second door on the left.”

“Shit, dude,” Pat says. “That’s a neat trick.”

“It’s alright,” Griffin demurs. “But what’ve you got all that for, if you’re not doing magic?”

“Uh, well, sentimentality, apparently. I dunno. It’s all just supplies that’ve stuck around with me whenever I moved, so now that I have space I put it all out, but I still don’t actually use it. I guess I could try and get back into it, but I don’t really have anyone to help me learn again.”

“Ah, yeah, that makes sense. I would, if I could, but I think my ways of doing magic are _pret-ty_ different than yours,” Griffin says. “I can nose around, though, see if anyone near-ish might be able to give you any advice? I won’t — like — say it’s for you or anything, unless you wanted me to, I could check around to see if anyone’s got skills that line up with your abilities.”

“If it comes up,” Pat says. “Don’t worry, though, you don’t have to go to any trouble —“

“What’s the point of having magic if you can’t use it?” says Griffin, who hits the question Pat has been asking himself intermittently for half his life right on the head. “Anyway. I think we’ve gotten off-track.”

“Maybe a little. What’s your issue? You seemed pretty worried about something.”

Griffin sighs. He sets down a now-empty can and opens another, slides one to Pat for good measure.

“I think something’s going on in the woods.”

 

Pat processes this. He hasn’t gone exploring, not really, not yet, and the big ol’ creature he’d seen last night doesn’t exactly make him eager to start. But. If Griffin’s telling the truth, about most things being benevolent, then why…?

“What do you mean?” Pat says, instead.

Griffin runs a hand through his hair, leaving it ruffled. Takes a sip of his drink. His mouth twists, thoughtful, a little distressed. “So, you don’t know Justin very well. Which helps, maybe, under the circumstances, ‘cause you’ll have clearer sight, I think. But a couple weeks ago it started to seem like something was — I dunno — really bothering him, or something’s really on his mind. I thought it was ‘cause Sydnee was out of town, but now I’m kind of starting to worry it’s something else.

“He keeps disappearing, for like, hours at a time. I’m not really sure why. But he’ll spend all fuckin’ day in the woods and anyone’ll tell you there’s nothing exciting in there. So I think either something exciting is, in fact, going on there, or — I don’t know. Maybe I’m reading into it too much. I just worry about him. He’s my brother.”

“Do you want me to — I dunno — follow him or something? As a bird, obviously. Or would he notice, like you did?”

Griffin considers this. “That’s a good question. I know I’m, like, more sensitive to it than Juice or Trav, but I obviously don’t know their subjective experience. I don’t know if they’d pick up your magical signature among the innate magical nature of the forest if they weren’t looking for it. Hell, I don’t know if I would, either. Trees are magic as shit, dude,” he adds, at Pat’s skeptical look.

“I can try, if you want. If he seems like he notices me, I can just fly off, it’s not a big deal. Like, I’m not, like, eager to tail your brother or whatever, but if you think something’s up, I trust your judgment. You know him best, y’know? And if something weird is there, well, that’s why I’ve got wings.”

“Yeah. I dunno, I could just be being paranoid. Maybe there’s nothing, maybe he just wants to go clear his head or something. I just don’t know what to do. He doesn’t usually shut me out like this.”

“That’s hard,” Pat says. Shit, when did he finish that second can? “I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks, Pat,” says Griffin. “You’re a good dude.”

Pat smiles, a little wry. “I’m trying my best, man. I feel like I keep fucking all my shit up, but if there’s anything I can do to help, I’m here. It sucks when something’s going on and there’s nothing you really know how to do about it.”

“Yeah,” Griffin says. Sighs. Tilts his head and looks at Pat. “What’s your drama, then?”

“Oh, god, do you really want me to get into it?” Pat groans.

Griffin leans forward, a little bit of a grin back on his face. “Hell yeah, I’m sold by that alone.”

“Glad to hear you delight in others’ misfortunes.”

“Look, nothing fuckin’ _happens_ here, alright? Feed me your big city drama, I wanna hear it.”

So Pat sighs and launches into a synopsis: best friend had a crush, Pat figured he should go for it ‘cause she’s the best person in the world, one thing led to another, then he’s crying on her like an asshole as he realizes he’s gay, things get real stupid amounts of awkward, their mutual friend finds out what’s going on and doesn’t really want to be the middleman so he kind of withdraws too, then Pat has to move for reasons unrelated to that specific disaster, then he winds up here and whoops! He’s gay and a dumbass, basically.

“God _damn,”_ Griffin says, emphatically. Both of them are well into tipsy territory, having by now finished off the last of Griffin’s refreshments. Griffin’s smile comes much more easily; his laugh does, too. Charlie has disappeared off down the hallway, apparently done keeping company. Griffin has contorted himself into a truly silly position, over the course of Pat’s story; he started off cross-legged on the opposite side of the couch, but he has now progressed to half-lying down facing Pat, propped up on an elbow, one of his legs dangling off the other side of the couch.

“Thanks,” Pat says. Griffin grins and pushes himself up into something closer to a normal sitting position.

“Nah, for real, dude, that’s a hot mess. Are you, like, handling it okay?”

Pat tilts his hand side to side, grimaces a little. “Things are less — uh — spectacularly awkward with Legs and Thomas now, at least. She and I talked it out a bunch. It just, y’know, it just kinda sucks. And it feels like I’m real fuckin’ late to the party on figuring this shit out, y’know?”

“Hey, that’s super fair, though. Not everyone’s in an environment where they have the chance to experiment, or even really to question. I think it’s great you figured it out, honestly, even though it wasn’t exactly under ideal circumstances.”

Pat shrugs. “I guess. It — it’s a big shift. In thinking. I keep being hit over the head with realizations that, like — oh, shit, I think this dude is hot! What the fuck! Like, before, I’d just ignore it. But, uh, I can’t do that so easily anymore. Since I’ve already acknowledged it. It’s such a pain in the ass.”

Griffin looks very smug at him. “You think Brian’s hot, don’t you.”

Pat feels his face burn. “Shut up,” he says, which does not help his case.

Griffin breaks into laughter, genuine, his head tilting back, but Pat doesn’t think he’s laughing at him. Just at the circumstances. “Patrick, you are not sneaky even a little.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You should go for it. He’s single, you know.”

Pat did not, in fact, know. “I’ve never even kissed a guy,” he says, instead, which — well, that doesn’t help his case, either.

Griffin looks up at him and he’s smirking, and closer than Pat thought, and his heart jumps into his throat and he’s staring at Griffin like a goddamn deer in headlights.

“Well, birdbrain, if you’re worried about that, I might know a guy.” His tone is teasing, warm.

“Oh my god. Are you hitting on me?”

“Only a little.” Griffin laughs at whatever face Pat makes. He has a nice laugh. “Nah, not, like, _really._ Just that if you wanted to test the waters, I’m game.”

Pat raises his eyebrows. He’s interested, there’s no doubt about that. And Griffin was spot-on, once again: he _does_ think Brian’s hot. He would absolutely go for it, if he wasn’t fucking terrified to do so. But Griffin’s attractive, too, and it would be, if nothing else, _fun._

But Pat’s made so many goddamn bad decisions lately. He doesn’t want this to blow up in his face, he’s hardly been here that long at all, he doesn’t want to fuck all his shit up before he so much as gets a chance to settle.

“I — I mean, yeah, I — I wouldn’t mind that. More than wouldn’t mind. But — and please do not take this the wrong way oh my god — I, like, don’t want to date you, or anything.”

“Oh, god no!” Griffin says, stricken, and his genuine shock makes them both laugh. “No, no fuckin’ way, I’m not trying to date you. I’m just saying, if you wanted to make out or whatever, we could do that. Or not. No harm, no foul, either way. Hah. No harm, no fowl. Get it? Like a bird?”

“Oh my _god_ will you quit it with the bird jokes.”

“Nope!” Griffin says, popping the _P._

Pat thinks about this for a moment. And then another moment, to make sure he’s really sure. “Things won’t be weird, right?”

“Not if you don’t make them weird! Look, dude, it’s totally okay. I think you’re hot, I think you think I’m hot, if I might be so bold —” Pat blushes, but he does nod. “— and it’s fuckin’ fun. But if you don’t want to, that’s totally okay! And if you do want to, then hell yeah, I’d be honored to be the first dude you kiss and stay your friend besides. And just ‘cause we do it right now doesn’t mean we ever have to again. It can be one time, no strings attached, just to try it, just ‘cause it’s fun, just ‘cause it feels good. Or whatever. I know you like Brian.”

Pat opens his mouth to deny this, but Griffin doesn’t let him interrupt.

“And I’ve got a crush on someone else. It’s cool with me, whatever you do or don’t want to do, and we can move forward totally normal because, look, we’re talking about it! Communication. Fuck yeah.”

“Fuck yeah,” Pat echoes. “Alright, fuck, okay, let’s do this thing, then.”

“Come at me, bro,” says Griffin, and then they burst into a fit of giggles that they both have to take entirely too long to settle down from before they can do anything else, because every time they look at each other they set each other off again.

But finally Pat calms down and cautiously reaches for Griffin, carefully cups his cheek in his hand.

“Don’t look so scared, dog, I’m not gonna bite.”

“Shut up,” Pat says, with no malice whatsoever.

Griffin just smiles at him and sits patiently. Pat appreciates it. Appreciates Griffin letting him take the initiative. He had a feeling it might take him a minute to psych himself up for it. Like, shit, like he’s standing at the edge of a precipice, staring down at it, and knowing that jumping is gonna mean that he’s for real for sure for definite no longer on this ledge anymore. Except what he’s jumping to is a sweet face with a little bit of stubble and sea-green eyes and pink cheeks and red lips and a genuine smile, with ruffled light brown hair and a faint dusting of freckles across his nose. That metaphor may have fallen apart a bit, actually, now that he thinks about it.

Pat’s heart is racing as he leans in to close the distance between them. Griffin tilts his head up slightly, to meet him there.

His lips are soft and warm, gentle against Pat’s. His hand goes out to rest lightly on Pat’s shoulder, but he doesn’t press forward. He lets Pat set the pace, but responds eagerly in precise balance to everything he does. When one kiss turns into two, into three, four, more, he accepts happily. When Pat moves his hand to the back of Griffin’s head, to keep him close, Griffin’s hand slides across Pat’s back to rest between his shoulderblades.

When Pat finally gives up on pretense and decides, fuck it, he’s here, he’s gonna enjoy it — he takes Griffin’s face in both hands and deepens the kiss, and oh Griffin must like that because his hands clutch at the back of Pat’s shirt as they pull each other closer. With some fumbling and breathless giggling, Griffin ends up in Pat’s lap. Oh, fuck, he likes this a lot, as it turns out. Griffin’s kind of wiggly, straddling Pat’s thighs, which may present itself to be the precursor to a situation, but he can deal with that if it should come up. Ha.

Griffin gets his hands in Pat’s hair, and that’s something Pat knows he’s definitely always liked, hello, even if it’s just light touches. And it’s even better, it turns out, when Griffin uses his weight to push Pat back against the couch, lets Pat get him by the waist and hold him close.

“How’re you doing?” Griffin says, quick and soft, between kisses.

“Good,” Pat gasps, and feels Griffin smile in response.

“D’you wanna take this anywhere? Or stick with kissing.”

Pat’s mind reels. He hadn’t even _considered_ the concept of more. He’s also — well, he’s not sure he’s ready for the concept of more. Even if the thought of Griffin shoving a hand down his pants makes him twitch with interest. Even if he thinks he’s probably gonna end up jerking off as soon as Griffin leaves to the memory of his mouth on his, lips tongue teeth, with that faint scratch of stubble (of what that mouth might feel like on him, elsewhere) —

“Just this is fine,” Pat says, and Griffin hums approvingly and gives a teasing nip to Pat’s lower lip.

“You’re cute, Gill, you know that?”

“Uh. No?”

Griffin laughs. “You got a nice face and a nice ass. The hair suits you. You kiss real sweet. Someone’s gonna be a lucky dude, to snap you up.”

Pat knows he’s blushing horrendously. “You’re — you’re too nice. And. You’re damn cute.”

Griffin bats his eyelashes at him. “I know. My folk are lucky. Got the looks, ya know? Everyone thinks seals are cute.” He plants a light kiss on Pat’s lips; Pat chases the contact and they get re-distracted again. It is definitely going to become a noticeable situation if Griffin keeps squirming around on his lap like that, but Pat can’t find it in himself to care.

It’s good. It’s fucking _good_ in a way he didn’t realize kissing was, for anyone. He’d sort of thought — like — everyone just kind of tolerated it, and rinsed the taste of their partner’s tongue out of their mouth after. But he can’t get enough of Griffin, draws a sharp wanting gasp when Griffin shoves his tongue into his mouth, a little graceless because neither of them are, like, sober, exactly, and he tastes like the beer that they were both drinking, and he fucking loves it. He’s never gotten hard from just kissing before but Griffin makes a rough sound when Pat sucks on his lip and tightens his grip on Pat’s hair and he is astonished by how worked up he is by all this.

Griffin gently tugs on Pat’s hair to get him to tilt his head, just a little, so he can press a kiss to the patch of white in Pat’s beard. Pat’s breathing hard and he can feel Griffin’s smug smile and he can’t even be annoyed by it.

“Whatcha think, bird boy?”

Pat closes his eyes and leans his head back to rest on the couch. He’s smiling. “I think if you call me that when anyone else is around I’m gonna be real mad.”

Griffin laughs. “Fair enough. You don’t touch my coat, I don’t make bird jokes at you in public.”

“Seems reasonable.”

“I like to think so.” Griffin grins at him. “I should probably head out. One more for the road?” He nuzzles his face against Pat’s cheek. Pat smiles and turns his head to kiss him again, slow and indulgent, and when they finally stop and Griffin slides off Pat’s lap they’re both smiling about it.

“That was — that was really nice,” Pat says. Griffin looks pleased.

“Good! I’m glad. I agree. And, uh, thanks for listening to my fretting, earlier.”

“‘Course. I’ll keep an eye out for anything weird.”

“Thanks, Pat. I appreciate it.” He gets to his feet, crosses the room to put his outerwear back on. “Text me if anything comes up, or whatever.”

“I don’t think I have your number?”

“Get it from Brian or someone. Hell, make him send a group text or something with you in it, then you’ll get everyone at once and you won’t have to keep asking. I gotta go, the boys are probably gonna be home by now. See you around,” Griffin says. Pat echoes _see you_ back, and Griffin disappears out the front door with a smile and wave.

8:33 PM | Simone de Rochefort  
Hellooooooooooooooooo are u coming still we’re gonna be here till like 10 at least

11:15 PM | Patrick Gill  
Sorry, Griffin came by and only just left

11:18 PM | Simone de Rochefort  
OH lol that explains it.  
Now I’ve got ur number though so ur getting invited to EVERYTHING >:) my secret plan comes to fruition

11:19 PM | Patrick Gill  
Lol thanks  
It’s so inconvenient to ask for everyone’s phone #. The worst part of making new friends  
Griffin told me I should make someone make a group chat with everyone to get everyone at once

11:20 PM | Simone de Rochefort  
OH DUH OF COURSE  
We’ve already got one i’m adding you rn

11:20 PM | Simone de Rochefort  
_Simone de Rochefort added Patrick Gill to MEME CORNER._

 

Oh god. He regrets it immediately, from the title alone. Pat sets down his phone just in time for it to start going off with a flood of messages, because of course it does, what else would anyone expect when awakening a group chat? He leaves it on his bed to go brush his teeth, and when he gets back he scrolls up through the messages to try and piece together who is who. He sends a cursory ‘hello’ text, ignoring what appears to be an ongoing GIF war between Simone and Ashley.

And then he puts his phone on do not disturb and climbs into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trees are magic as shit, dude

Pat hasn’t spent more than a shortcut home as a bird in quite a while. He’s been too depressed to get out of the house and fly around the place, but now he has motive and excuse to. It’s a clear day, finally starting to seem like it might warm up enough to really be summer soon, and not too windy. Perfect flight conditions, really.

He takes the direction away from town, towards the coast, flying between trees low enough to see the forest floor but high enough to be out of reach of anything he might run into. Mostly, it seems, the things he runs into are some squirrels. A couple deer. Some other birds, that he stays well clear of when he can.

He lands on a branch to rest for a moment — flying is exhausting, alright, and he’s out of practice — and cocks his head to the side at the sound of twigs cracking, leaves being crunched underfoot.

Pat is far above Justin’s head, but he knows him when he sees him. He’s hard to miss, with that gaudy coat. He’s got earbuds in, and is humming quietly along to whatever he’s listening to, and almost certainly doesn’t notice Pat. Good. He flutters his wings and gets ready to take off, to follow.

He stays back a ways, not wanting Justin to notice anything out of the ordinary. He hasn’t been this deep into the forest yet, but even he can feel its magic now. The air is thick with it. Cloying. It doesn’t feel as friendly as Pat might’ve hoped; it feels like it’s getting in his tear ducts, his lungs.

He follows Justin into a clearing and lands on a new tree, and then is so fucking stunned by what he sees that he digs his claws into the bark hard enough to pierce the outer layer.

He’s not sure whether to focus on Justin unpacking _literal gardening tools_ from his backpack or the garden that he has chosen to tend to.

It’s not really a garden. It’s not really a plant. It’s got so much magical energy that Pat feels viscerally the need to take off and get the fuck away. Which he will. In a moment. But right now he’s too busy staring at — at _something_ that comes fully up to Justin’s waist. It’s a strange round shape growing out of the ground, like a giant moss ball but strange, somehow, that fucking glitters in the thin rays of light that have made their way through the canopy of trees to strike its surface.

Pat doesn’t have a lot of magic knowledge. He doesn’t have a lot of magic skill, even. He couldn’t sense a trio of selkies right under his nose, for crying out loud. So this? This force of magic? It scares him. It’s not like his own magic. It feels… musty. Old. _Ancient._ So powerful is it that it simultaneously makes Pat want to bolt away as far as he can in the opposite direction, or let himself be sucked into it.

Which is not promising.

Pat may not know much. But he really, really doesn’t think this is good.

He finally manages to tear his eyes away and he takes off at top speed and doesn’t look back. He heads, instead of his house, to the beach. He doesn’t know where the McElroys live, but if there’s any chance Griffin is there, any chance at all, it’s worth it.

He’s starting to run out of steam when he sees a few people sitting together on a blanket. He swoops in closer to take a look: oh, Griffin _is_ there, and looks directly up at Pat as soon as he’s within about thirty feet of their group, but he’s with Travis, and Brian, and Simone. Which is unfortunate, because there’s a lot less tree cover out here to disguise him when he shifts back. But there’s a shed he can duck behind, at least, so that’s gotta be good enough.

He’s winded, a little bit, and his face is flushed. He’s not even in running clothes, so he can’t write it off at _all,_ just regular shorts-not-jorts-thank-you-Brian and a t-shirt. As soon as he comes around to the other side of the building and Griffin sees him, Griffin is on his feet immediately.

The others turn to see what has startled Griffin so, and Pat gets three confused but friendly _hello_ s. Pat waves, as he approaches, and tries not to look like he’s as out of breath as he is. _Fuck,_ flying is exhausting.

“Pat, what’s up?” Griffin says, a little more urgently than a casual conversation.

He has to clear his throat before he talks, fuck, he needs to go on long flights more, this shit’s embarrassing. And he hasn’t thought of a good way to say this that doesn’t blow everything wide open; he doesn’t know how much of Griffin’s concern that he has relayed to the others, but judging by their conversation the previous night, Pat would guess that the answer is “not much.”

“Just, uh, doing some exploring,” Pat says. He keeps eye contact with Griffin and hopes that he’s telegraphing some amount of _dude holy shit_ to him. He probably is, and probably too much of it, actually.

Simone pokes him in the calf, and he makes a startled noise that is a little too close to a squawk for his taste — this makes her burst into cackling laughter — and tells him to “sit down, jeez, you look all out of breath, what were you even doing?”

Pat plops down onto the blanket between her and Brian. Griffin sits down too, watching Pat closely.

“Would you believe me if I said I was running?” Pat says.

“No,” says Simone.

“Figures.” He can’t lie for shit, so he settles for misdirection instead: “I was taking a walk through the forest.”

“How’d you get all the way out here, then?” Brian says.

“Decided I was done with trees for the day and figured the beach might be nice.”

Griffin keeps looking at Pat. Pat keeps looking at Griffin. And then he has the bright idea to try and send a text off to him surreptitiously — which he maybe should’ve done in the first place, actually — and slides his phone out of his pocket as Brian and Simone lose interest in that particular line of questioning.

“You spend much time at the beach?” Simone says.

“A little. I, uh. I haven’t really gotten out much, if I’m gonna be perfectly honest,” Pat says, as he types.

“Good thing it’s summer so you can have an excuse to, then,” Simone says. “You can go swimming all the time!”

“Yeah. Uh-huh,” says Pat. Hits send. Actually responds to her statement: “Sure, if I wanted anyone to see me in a swimsuit, ever.”

Simone snorts. “Please.”

1:37 PM | Patrick Gill  
Saw justin. Taking care of some big fucked up magic thing in the forest. NW of my house. Can take you there or you can go yourself. B careful

Pat can see, out of the corner of his eye, Griffin going through a whole series of _oh shit oh god oh fuck_ expressions, none of which are especially subtle. So Pat keeps talking, to keep the others’ eyes on himself instead.

“What, no one needs to see my bony-ass torso,” he says to Simone.

“Or your bony ass,” Griffin says, distractedly, still looking at his phone. He glances up and grins, quite convincingly, at Pat, who shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “I gotta go, y’all, I’ll see you around.”

With that, Griffin stands and leaves; everyone else watches him go. Travis shrugs.

“Alright, well, Pat, you want in on Uno? You can take Griff’s cards,” Travis says. The deck is _Legend of Zelda_ themed, which Pat finds disproportionately charming.

“What the hell, sure. Aw, come on, really, give me the losing hand? Jesus, how many draw fours did you get on this guy?”

Brian laughs. “Speaking of, sorry, Pat,” he says, and lays down a draw two.

“Oh my _god.”_ He takes two cards and tries very, very, very hard not to worry about what Griffin might be getting himself into.

 

They stay until the sun starts to set, and Brian offers to walk Pat home. And, well, Pat’s not gonna say no to that. Everyone packs their things, and they set off in the opposite direction from Travis and Simone.

“Been up to anything interesting?” Brian asks, innocently — innocently enough that Pat is instantly suspicious. He side-eyes Brian, who just smiles at him.

“Still kind of settling in, mostly. Getting used to the area. Hung out with Griffin yesterday, that was alright.” Maybe a little more than alright, but Brian doesn’t strictly need to know about that. He can skate by with these half-truths, probably.

“Mhm. That sounds nice. We missed you at Ashley’s, but I’m glad you had a good time.”

Pat does not know how Brian seems to completely see through him. Well. He does: because he’s not sneaky. But that’s a boring answer, and he wishes it weren’t true, and he wishes anyone could give him the benefit of the doubt ever. “Yeah, it was. Oh! And I found a cat.”

“A cat?” Brian repeats, immediately interested.

“Yeah! His name’s Charlie. He, uh, sort of adopted me, I guess. D’you want to come in and meet him?” Pat says, with his house now in sight.

“Yes, absolutely, Pat Gill,” Brian says, and Pat smiles.

They are, as it happens, greeted enthusiastically by Charlie, who nearly trips Pat as he walks inside as he meows at him and rubs against his shins.

“Oh my god, look at him!” Brian says, immediately kneeling to pet him. Charlie loves the attention, smushes his cheek against Brian’s hand, purring already. Brian coos at him, telling him he’s _such a pretty kitty aww what a good boy_ and Pat can’t decide if he thinks it’s silly or cute as hell.

(It’s both, he concludes.)

He hears his phone go off and checks his messages as Brian is distracted by the cat.

7:45 PM | Griffin McElroy  
Found Justin. Did not find any weird forest shit. Sydnee’s coming back tomorrow so he’s going to be busy all day. You free to investigate?

7:46 PM | Patrick Gill  
Of course

There are a couple other messages, too, from earlier, in the group chat with himself and Legs and Thomas:

5:35 PM | Allegra Frank  
PAT there is EXCITING NEWS  
EXCITING NEWS PT. 1: thomas is moving into my apartment  
EXCITING NEWS PT. 2: this is happening VERY SOON!!!!!!  
EXCITING NEWS PT. 3: once he is moved in you can come visit us and we will let you stay AS LONG AS YOU WANT because we miss u!!!!!!!!!

 

Well. That feels like a solid punch to the gut.

7:47 PM | Patrick Gill  
Oh shit that’s really exciting I’m happy for you  
That sounds like it would be fun, keep me posted  
!  
Hit send too soon lol

“Wow, Pat, what’s that face about?”

He doesn’t know what face he was making before, but he bares his teeth in a humorless approximation of a smile. “My New York friends are moving in together. And offered to let me stay if I come visit. Even though, uh, they didn’t have room to put me up for a little bit while I was apartment-hunting. Which, I mean. That’s fair. It’s New York. There was drama. It’s not fair of me to expect it. Fuck. I’m just — being an asshole, for a minute, here, in the wake of that news. Sorry.”

Brian stands; his mouth is pressed in a worried line. Fuck, Patrick, don’t stare at his mouth, what’s wrong with you? “I think it’s fair to feel upset,” Brian says gently. “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot, recently.”

Pat sighs. He’s inclined to disagree — he knows he’s an asshole — but he can’t find the energy to argue, not with Brian’s big hazel eyes fixed on him. “Yeah. I’ll figure it out.”

“I know you will,” says Brian, with a sincere smile. “And, for what it’s worth — I think everyone here is glad you turned up.”

“Now, Brian, that might be a little bit of an exaggeration —”

“It’s not! I mean it, I wouldn’t bullshit with you about that. Seriously. Everyone who’s met you likes you, I haven’t heard anyone talking shit. I know it’s hard to be in a new place but — you don’t have to be alone, y’know?”

Pat is — more touched by this than he should be, probably. “Thank you,” he says softly. Brian smiles at him, gentle, his expression is so gentle.

“Do you want me to stick around? I can stay, if you want company.”

Pat considers this. He’s sort of — drained. From all the flying he’s done. From the sheer overwhelm of emotions and people he’s encountered lately. And he likes Brian, he really does, but it’s also stressing him out how _much_ he likes him, because it’s new, because he doesn’t know how to handle it, because he doesn’t know what to do about it, because he’s not sure how he’s going to keep it quiet, because he’s not sure how to tell him.

“It’s okay if you don’t. I understand needing to rest, believe me.”

“Yeah, I — I think, if you don’t mind, I think I might need to have a night to myself. I, um. If you want to hang out a different time, though…?” He lets the question hang. Brian brightens.

“Absolutely, Pat Gill. Just tell me when,” he says.

“Will do. I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“See you soon,” Brian says, and allows himself to be dismissed.

* * *

“What the fuck,” Pat groans, hearing someone banging on his front door. He picks up his phone and squints at it. It’s nine in the morning. Goddamn it.

He drags himself to his feet and to the front door, still in his pajama pants and old faded t-shirt. He opens it and finds himself face-to-face with Griffin, who is way too fucking cheerful for any hour that can be described with AM.

“C’mon, Patrick, we’ve got shit to do,” Griffin says. “Get dressed and eat some breakfast or something.”

“Ugh,” says Pat, very coherently. Griffin laughs. “You go sit or whatever. I’ll, like, make myself be a person.”

Griffin looks amused as he sits on Pat’s couch, curls up on it and pulls out his phone to entertain himself as Pat drags himself through a condensed version of his morning routine. He’s not speedy in the morning, but he gets dressed and brushes his teeth and grabs a granola bar and fills his water bottle and grabs his backpack and that’s as ready as he’s gonna get, probably.

“You need any of your witch shit?” Griffin says. Pat considers this.

“Honestly, most of my stuff is for annoyingly practical use. Like, colds or anxiety or whatever. I don’t think I have anything that would be helpful for our purposes. Whatever those are.”

“Fair enough. Let’s go,” says Griffin, and they set off for the forest.

Pat remembers the way he took yesterday, though it’s considerably slower and more annoying on foot. If he’s got one gift bestowed upon him by being n occasional bird, it’s a good sense of direction. But he is — fucking jumpy, the whole walk. Twitchy. He turns at every slightly out-of-the-norm sound. Usually it is only a squirrel. Or a bush. Or absolutely nothing.

“Dude, can you chill out? You’re making me anxious.”

“I’m making me anxious, too,” Pat says.

“Wanna be a bird for a bit? I’ll carry your shit, if you need me to. How’s that work, anyway?”

“Everything I’m wearing goes with me when I change. I guess whatever — I dunno — pocket dimension my body goes to, that goes too. Usually if I’ve got a backpack it’ll go and come back just fine? But sometimes it’ll fall on the ground if I’ve got too much stuff in it. I don’t know what the limit is, it seems pretty arbitrary. But mostly it works.”

“That’s pretty convenient, all things considered,” Griffin says. “I don’t get that luxury, I’ve gotta hide out in — we’ve got this stupid, like, cave, where we keep a bunch of our person shit, clothes and stuff, it’s a whole pain in the ass ‘cause the sealskin doesn’t work if you’re wearing shit under it and so that’s annoying in both directions.” He rolls his eyes. “So that’s the changing room.”

“Magic has the weirdest goddamn rules,” Pat says.

Griffin scoffs. “For fuckin’ real.”

“Okay, I’m gonna be a bird, ‘cause I feel like I’m gonna jump out of my goddamn skin from anxiety and if I’m gonna do that I might as well at least do it in a productive fashion,” Pat says, and Griffin laughs.

It’s the first time since he’s lived with his family that he’s let anyone else see the transformation — it’s quick, barely a second of time between being one and the other — but it still feels weirdly vulnerable to have someone else see it. His backpack does, in fact, cooperate, so he doesn’t even have to make Griffin carry it.

“Patrick, that’s cool as hell,” says Griffin, approvingly. Pat flies up to perch on his shoulder, and Griffin strokes the back of a finger across Pat’s feathery chest. “You can stay up there but if you shit on me I’m never speaking to you again.”

Pat gives an offended caw, which makes Griffin laugh. Pat ruffles his feathers and tilts his beak up, indignantly.

“Yeah, I know, I know, you’ve still got your brain in there. Which means you also know I’m joking. And now I get to have one-sided conversation — oh _shit,_ you feel that, Gill?”

He does, in fact, feel that. It’s the same eye-watering intense magic from yesterday. He nods.

“That’s some weird fuckin’ shit, my dude. No wonder no one goes out this way.”

Pat gives him his best inquisitive look, but his bird face does not have a ton of emotional range. But Griffin picks up on the curious head-tilt, anyway.

“Look, sometimes people hang out in the forest. Why else would you live in the middle of nowhere? But no one really comes this deep. Or, at least, not this way. Guess we’ve all kinda picked up some vibes oh my _jesus god Patrick what the fuck is that.”_

Pat flutters off his shoulder as they walk into the clearing and lands on his own human feet. “That pretty much sums it up, yeah,” he says.

“Christ, you said Justin was tending to this?”

“Like a goddamn garden,” Pat confirms. “He had a little watering can and everything.”

“What the literal and actual fuck,” Griffin says. He leans to one side, to the other side, to try to get a view of the whole thing. It still looks like a big weird hill of moss, but upon closer inspection there are tiny colorful buds mixed in. That must be what gives the impression of glittering. “I do _not_ wanna get closer to that. Oh, this is so — I don’t like this at all, Patrick.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“I super don’t,” Griffin says. “But it doesn’t feel good. God, I want to get a better look at it, but I don’t want to touch it. Fuck. I’m gonna have to actually talk to Justin about this, I guess. Shit. That’s gonna be a conversation.” He sighs. “Well, now that we’ve trudged our asses all the way out here, we should probably — hold on, d’you hear that?”

Pat strains his ears. “Probably a deer?”

“No, it’s —” Griffin cuts himself off, a finger to his lips. It takes a minute, but finally Pat can hear something. Footsteps. A voice — no, two voices. Griffin’s eyes are very wide. “It’s Juice and Syd. Fuck,” he whispers.

“Time to have that conversation,” Pat whispers back.

“Can you be a bird? I’ll — uh — call for you if I need backup, I guess.”

Pat nods and is in mere seconds in the tree above Griffin’s head. And not a minute later, two figures come into the clearing. And stop dead when they see Griffin.

“Hey, guys,” says Griffin. “What the hell is going on?”

 

Sydnee looks between Griffin, and the thing in the clearing, and Justin, and back to the thing in the clearing, and back to Justin again. She looks — confused, blindsided, almost, which is reassuring to Pat in some way. He doesn’t know her, he’s never seen her before, but he’s glad to think that she isn’t in on this weird scary ancient magic shit too. He remembers someone saying she’s a doctor, she’s got to have more common sense than to get mixed up in weird magic shit.

“I’m going to second that question,” she says. “I was figuring you’d found some dryad sprouts or something.”

“No, c’mon, you know I would’ve told Janet or something if that was the case,” says Justin. “I know it’s, uh, pretty weird looking. But it’s fine, really, it is.”

“Hoops, you don’t know that —”

“Yeah I do. It hasn’t hurt me. Look,” says Justin, and before Griffin or Sydnee can stop him he darts over to lay a hand on it. Griffin yells at him, too late, to _stop!_

A small mossy vine lifts out of the mound and brushes against Justin’s hand. It’s almost… almost a friendly gesture, Pat thinks, but how?

Wait. _Wait._

He knows what this is.

When he was a kid, he and his sister would sometimes play in the woods by their house. Every once in a while, they’d wander deeper than they were supposed to — between Pat’s sense of direction and Rhiannon’s sense of adventure, they’d usually be just fine. But one day they _had_ gotten lost. It was starting to get late, and they needed to get home soon.

They’d found themselves in the very center of the trees, in a clearing just like this. There had been a strange hill — Pat had thought it was a cave, before he walked all the way around it and saw no entrance — and then Rhi had _talked_ to it.

Pat couldn’t hear what it was saying back, but even so young, even with hardly any magical knowledge yet, he’d known it was powerful. The ground had seemed to hum under his feet.

And then Rhi had laid her hand on it and it grew vines around her fingers. One had fashioned itself into something of a bracelet — now that Pat thinks of it, she still wears it. Green as the day as it first sprouted.

“It’s the heart of the woods,” she had said. “It’ll help us get home. It just needs someone to help it, too.”

“A debt?” Pat had squeaked, because he knew about _those._ Knew about trading something for something else. Knew about making a promise too big for yourself, even then.

“No, no, not like that. It’ll help us either way. It just — it wants to know if I’ll help it,” she had said. She’d stroked a fingertip over the mossy surface. “It needs someone to keep it safe. And I’m gonna.”

 

Pat squawks, to let Griffin know he’s coming — Griffin startles — and he’s on the ground and on his feet in seconds.

“Patrick?” Justin says. He turns to Griffin. “Ditto, why’d you bring Pat?”

“He’s got a better sense of direction than me. Also, he was flying around and saw you here yesterday.”

Justin frowns. “Man, I’d thought I felt — ugh. Did you put him up to that?”

“Yes, I’ve been worried about you!” Griffin says. “You’ve been acting so weird!”

“Justin, has this thing been talking to you?” Pat says.

“Is it… can you not hear it?” Justin says. Griffin boggles at him. Sydnee, at Justin’s right, looks concerned and a little overwhelmed. Pat feels kind of bad about it.

“What’s it saying?” Sydnee says.

“It needs help. It needs someone to take care of it. It’s so old, it’s been here for so long. It says — oh. It says its last caretaker isn’t here anymore. And that I was the first person to come by. And. So it asked. And I answered.”

Griffin and Sydnee both look really goddamn worried, but Pat is relieved. He clears his throat; three pair of eyes turn to him immediately. “My, uh. My sister? Is the caretaker of the woods where I grew up. She has been since she was, like, ten. I didn’t — I didn’t really know what that meant. I was just a kid, when we found the heart. This is the heart of the forest, right? Did it introduce itself to you?”

Justin nods.

“I didn’t spend a lot of time with her when she went to the forest. She’s, uh, a lot more into magic than I am. I’m pretty out of touch. And also there’s only so much you can pester your older sister before she tells you to go away. How long has it been alone?”

There is a pause. Pat can feel the thrum, under his feet, of the forest speaking.

“A long time,” Justin says, softly. His voice breaks a little. “Its cry for help was too strong. Its magic is too powerful. I — I was taking a walk, after Syd left, ‘cause I was bored, and kinda freaking out about some stuff, and I just — went this way, ‘cause no one is ever out this way, and then I felt the call and I came to it. I didn’t. I didn’t mean to worry you. But it’s so lonely, you guys. It’s been here for so long. It just needs someone to love it. To help it. To care for it. It’s the life force of the forest. It needs us, just as much as those who live here need it.” There are — god, there’s tears in his eyes. Pat really doesn’t think he should be here for this display of emotion.

“I can get you in contact with Rhiannon,” Pat says, hesitantly, when no one else speaks for way too long. “If you want. She knows a lot about this stuff, I bet. I’m sure she does. She’s been doing it forever. She can probably give you some advice. If you need it.”

“So, wait, hang on,” Griffin says. “It’s not a bad thing? It’s not gonna, like, eat Justin or something?”

“No!” says Justin, indignant, at the same time as Pat says the same word much more calmly.

“I wanted to — I wanted to show Syd, ‘cause it’s important, and —” He catches Sydnee’s eye. She nods at him. “We’re — uh — expecting, and, uh, so, like, I wanted to show her the magic —”

Justin is interrupted as Griffin crashes into him with a bear hug. He is saying a lot of things very fast and urgent that Pat can’t quite catch, but it sounds like _you asshole_ and _you had me so goddamn worried_ and _why can’t you ever tell anyone anything oh my god_ and _holy shit I’m so happy for you guys_ and _oh my god wait I’m gonna be an uncle?_

And then there is a whole kerfuffle of emotions and hugging and Pat is desperately, desperately awkward, still rooted to the ground where he’d landed, not exactly sure what to do with himself. He scuffs his toe across the ground and looks at the dirt and tries not to stare at them having a good ol’ family moment. He doesn’t even know Sydnee, for crying out loud, and he can feel his ears burning with awkwardness.

“Aw, Pat, c’mere,” says Griffin, finally glancing at him and waving him over. Pat crosses the clearing, awkwardly. “Sydnee, this is Patrick. Pat, this is Sydnee. Pat’s the new witch in town. He’s trying to keep it on lock, though, so don’t spread too many rumors,” Griffin says, with a conspiratorial wink. Sydnee laughs and shakes Pat’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you. Sorry that it’s under such weird circumstances,” she says.

“Yeah, well, there’s a time in every man’s life where he has to have some drama with the forest, I guess,” Pat says breezily.

“You know what the dumb part is?” Justin says, butting in. “Like, I live in the sea. The saltwater! I’m a dang seal half the time. But did it pick a dryad? No. Anyone with any ties to the forest at all? Nope! Just me.”

“Well, you’re the only one that braved the crazy fuckin’ magical aura to get out here, so,” Griffin says. “Must be something, right?”

“I guess.”

“I don’t think it’s about where you come from,” Pat says. “I think it’s more about if you’re willing to, uh. To open your heart and help. Not to pay a debt, or to get one in return. Just for the sake of helping something that needs you.” Everyone just looks at him, then, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “Not to get, uh, too real or anything.”

“That’s — like — kinda beautiful, Patrick,” Griffin says.

Pat feels himself blushing. “I try. I’m — gonna let you guys do your family thing and get outta your hair. Congrats on — uh — adopting a forest and having babies. Big achievements, both of those.” He teases, but he means the sentiment behind it, and hopes his tone or his smile is genuine enough to communicate that. Justin and Sydnee both seem at least amused, so that’s alright. He hasn’t left too bad of an impression, hopefully.

He leaves the clearing and, moments later, takes wing.

* * *

Things are blessedly calm for a bit, after this. Griffin reports that Sydnee has wrangled Justin into quitting smoking, for real for real, and Ashley scoffs _I’ll believe it when I see it,_ and Griffin says _well believe it then because he’s being a pain in the ass,_ but his tone is fond.

They’re all in Ashley’s house, on a Sunday afternoon. It’s colorful; the living room walls are lavender and there is a massive black-and-white painting of a nine-tailed fox above the couch. Pat isn’t sure whether or not Ashley was the one to paint it, but it’s cool as hell regardless. He is, at present, on the floor of her living room, because they’d run out of seats for everyone. Brian had joined him in sympathy and also so as not to be squished between Simone and Jenna on the couch; he is lying on his stomach next to Pat, his chin in his hands.

Simone and Jenna are very focused on playing _A Way Out,_ which apparently they have started on Ashley’s device and now can only play it at her house. Or something. Pat missed the subtleties of the conversation. But it’s kind of fun to watch, even though Simone can get pretty worked up, as it turns out, and very shouty. Ashley has the patience of a saint, Pat is pretty sure.

Brian sighs and rolls over onto his back, looking up at the TV upside-down.

“This game is obnoxious,” he says.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re not playing,” Jenna says, without looking at him.

“Maybe so. I’ve never tried it. Pat, play this game with me,” he says, flinging an arm out to bap Pat on the shoulder. He clips his bicep, instead.

“It looks pretty obnoxious,” Pat concedes. “Also, I don’t own it, and don’t want to infringe on Ashley’s hospitality for the length of another playthrough.”

“Thank you, finally, someone with _manners,”_ Ashley says.

“Okay, play a different game with me that you do own, then,” Brian says, swayed easily enough. Pat suspects Brian might be a little drunk. He himself might be getting to that point, especially since he makes the forethought-less decision to slide down frontways to lay down next to Brian, the complementary prone to Brian’s supine sprawl. Now he is entirely too close to him.

“I had an idea, actually,” Pat says, “if you wanted to keep streaming with me sometimes.”

Brian perks up at this, turns to look at Pat, intrigued. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s kinda dumb. But. We could make one of the days I usually stream — I dunno which works best for you, or even if you’d want to do it regularly — but — if you did, we could make a fun thing out of it. Like, play through a game together or something. Or play bad games on purpose. Or play games bad on purpose? I dunno. But half my idea was mostly ‘cause I thought we could call it _Gill & Gilbert,_ ‘cause of our last names, y’know, kind of matching.”

“Oh my god. I love it,” Brian says, shifting to prop himself up on an elbow so he can look at Pat. “That’s so fun. We have to do it. We gotta. It’s the law now.”

Pat laughs. “Alright, okay, if you insist.”

For a second, he thinks Brian is about to throw an arm around Pat and snuggle up against his side. He sort of — scoots closer to Pat, and gives him this look, but then Simone yells _FUCK_ because she has died in the game and Pat flinches very, very hard at that and when he looks back at Brian, Brian has returned to lying on his back and looking incredibly dramatic and put-upon.

“Ashley,” Brian whines, “Tell Simone not to yell.”

“You know that’s a hopeless cause,” Ashley says. “Might as well tell the sun not to shine.”

“Well. That’s dumb,” Brian says, eloquently. Pat looks over his shoulder in time to see Simone stick her tongue out at Brian. Brian makes a face back.

Pat folds his arms under his head and rests his cheek on his forearms. He’s sleepy. The room is dim, aside from a small lamp and the light from the TV, and he’s pleasantly buzzed and the hum of conversation is friendly and —

“Pat, lift your head, there y’go,” Brian says, sliding a pillow at him. Pat smiles at him, grateful, and Brian’s return smile is unguarded and lovely, completely lovely. Pat closes his eyes again, and then he feels a blanket flutter down over him and he is — deeply grateful and touched by the gesture, maybe disproportionately so.

“Gimme your glasses. Also I’m sharing the blanket so don’t hog it,” says Brian’s voice, and delicate hands take his glasses and disappear away, and then it’s cold as the blanket lifts and then settles back down and then there is another warm body hardly a foot and a half away. He hears Griffin say _awww_ in a very obnoxious way, and Pat musters the energy to lift a hand to flip him off. There is laughter, from the couch, and he smiles into the pillow, where they can’t see.

 

His mouth is dry when he wakes up, and the room dark and quiet. He lifts his head and squints around at the room; his vision is incredibly blurry without his glasses, but even he can tell that no one else is in the room except Brian, who is still dead asleep. It seems like everyone has left. The only sound in the house is distant music from a room down the hall, the door closed, a strip of light peeking between the floor and the bottom of the door. Probably Ashley’s room. Probably any party that’s left is in there.

He pushes his face back against the pillow and tries to decide if he should get up to leave or to find some water, or if he should stay here and try to fall back asleep on Ashley’s floor. As he’s weighing his pros and cons he hears a soft sound from Brian, and turns his head to see Brian sigh deeply and stretch. He blinks at Pat and — “oh, hey there,” says Brian, and smiles.

“Hey,” says Pat, a little rough from sleep. Brian turns on his side and studies Pat, maybe more closely than Pat would like because he’s sure he looks a mess from sleeping on the floor for who-even-knows how long, but there is no downward tug at the corners of Brian’s mouth, nor tension between his eyebrows. He looks simply happy to be there, sleepy, cheerful, a little blurry — but that last is probably just Pat’s vision. “Where’d you put my glasses?”

“On the table,” Brian says, with a vague hand-wave. “Don’t worry, they’re safe.”

This appeases Pat well enough; he drops his head back down onto the pillow. Fuck, he’s tired, and does not want to walk nor fly all the way back home now that he’s gotten started on sleeping, but he knows his body will hate him for sleeping on the floor. But Brian’s right there, looking at him with those glittering hazel eyes, his hair rumpled, and he’s so fucking beautiful that Pat might die of it.

“Whatcha thinking?” Brian whispers, like — well, like they’re at a sleepover in the middle of the night and they’re the only ones awake.

“Trying to decide if I should go home or not,” Pat whispers back.

“Boring. Stay here. We can fold out the couch and stay up to tell each other secrets.”

“What is this, middle school?”

“Absolutely, Pat Gill,” Brian says haughtily, and stands. “C’mon, Ash said we could, she doesn’t care. People crash here all the time.”

“Doesn’t anyone have their own house?” Pat grumbles, hauling himself to his feet.

“No one likes to walk. ‘Specially not if they’ve been drinking. Simone’s in her room, they’re probably watching more _Riverdale_ because they hate themselves, I guess. Come give me a hand, will you?”

Pat helps unfold the bed from the pull-out couch, and Brian unceremoniously scoops up the bedding they’d left on the floor and dumps it onto the mattress. Pat raises an eyebrow at him, and he just giggles — goddamn _giggles_ — and starts to arrange the pillows.

Pat wanders off while he’s fussing to go and get some water, gets some for Brian too while he’s at it. Brian gives him a big genuine smile when he hands him the glass. It’s too cute. It’s too cute and Pat is going to have to sleep next to this man and somehow not blow this whole thing open.

The trouble is, he wants to kiss Brian. The trouble is, he doesn’t know how to go about that. Not even a little. Sure, he made out with Griffin, but that was different. Just as friends. Things were normal, the next day. But if he fucks things up with Brian?

Nope. No way. He can’t, and he won’t, and the only way he can ensure that is to just… not.

So he won’t.

Brian disappears off for the bathroom and Pat gets in bed, lying on his back, not really sure what to do with himself. 

“Patrick, tell me you’re not sleeping in jeans and a button-down, I will kick you right out of this bed for sleep jeans crimes,” says Brian, when he reappears, in his t-shirt and boxer briefs, and Pat might actually die, Jesus, this is it for him. Brian pauses, at Pat’s lack of response, and then hastily adds, “Unless you’re uncomfortable with that in which case I won’t judge —“

“No, you’re right, sleeping in jeans is the fuckin’ worst,” Pat says, because it is, and drags himself back out of the bed to go use the bathroom and take off his jeans and the button-down — god, of course he wore this nerd-ass _Doom_ shirt under it today — but at least his underwear is sensibly boring navy blue boxers.

Brian is curled up on his side, turned towards where Pat was just minutes ago, and he is real self-conscious as he slides beneath the blanket again. Brian’s shirt is bright vivid orange and advertises a — summer camp, maybe? Pat can’t tell, on account of it’s mostly covered by the blanket and anyway he doesn’t need to be staring at Brian’s chest.

“You seemed real eager to be telling secrets. Got any good gossip I should know of?”

Brian’s smile is downright wicked. It makes Pat’s heart race to have it directed at him. “Pat Gill, you don’t even know the half of it,” he says. “I have _all of the gossip_ and now I have a captive audience who doesn’t know _any_ of it.”

“Oh, god,” Pat groans, covering his face with his hands, in despair that is more feigned than not. He peeks at Brian, who is still grinning, and gives his most dramatic sigh. “Lay it on me, B-D-G, I suspect you’re gonna either way.”

Brian props his chin in his hand and winks at him. Oh, god, he is so fucked.

 

Pat wakes up to someone making a racket in the kitchen — there is a crash, a clatter, and a string of swearing in Ashley’s voice, and Simone’s laughter, and then Brian groans next to him and pulls a pillow over his face.

“It is bright,” Brian says, voice muffled.

“Sure is. You alright?”

“Ugh,” says Brian. “I want coffee.”

“You’re not getting any unless you get it your damn self,” Ashley says from the kitchen. “We do not have room service in this house.”

“But she did just start the coffee machine!” Simone chips in. “And it’s only us, so we probably won’t run out unless one of us uses the big mug.”

“Please don’t use the big mug,” Brian whines. “I want the big mug.”

“I just dropped the big mug on the floor, so unless you want to wash it, you’re out of luck,” says Ashley.

“That’s bullshit,” Brian grumbles. He pulls the pillow off of his face, squinting in the bright light, and hauls himself out of bed, lumbers to the kitchen. Pat can afford a second or two to blink, to stare at him — he’s wearing red plaid boxers and does not even care that his long hairy muscled legs are fully on display, not to mention his ass looks spectacular —

Pat looks away quickly. He puts his jeans back on, because he is not half as comfortable as Brian is prancing around in only a t-shirt and underwear, and joins the others in the kitchen. Brian looks rumpled and pouty; Simone and Ashley look like they find this more amusing than Brian wants them to.

Pat is never not awkward, when he’s at someone else’s house and doesn’t know their routine, but Ashley just prods him out of the way to get to the fridge and Simone asks him if he wants some of the pancakes she’s making and Brian scowls at the coffee machine until it produces enough for himself and Pat and Pat doesn’t feel like he’s too terribly in the way at least, which is the bare minimum he would hope for.

He spends the entirety of breakfast trying not to think about how attractive Brian is and also how he just spent an entire night sleeping next to him and letting him talk at him even though he doesn’t remember a single goddamn word of his sleepy rambling. He does not do an especially good job, probably, because Simone elbows him and says, “Hey, you still off in dreamland?”

“Uh. Probably,” Pat says, because that’s better than admitting he was staring off into space and thinking about Brian’s butt despite the fact that he’s sitting right next to him.

Good god, he needs to get a handle on himself.

 

Ashley kicks them out after breakfast, because she is done with having people in her space. Brian is considerably less aggrieved with some food and caffeine in him, and prances energetically in a circle around Pat as he checks his phone, walking slowly so he doesn’t trip on anything. Pat side-eyes Brian.

“I think I liked you better when you were too sleepy to talk,” Pat says.

“Mean! Pat Gill, how could you say something like that!” Brian says, putting a hand on his chest in mock-despair.

“Pat’s a big ol’ meanie,” Simone says.

“It’s true,” Pat says, distractedly.

10:43 AM | Allegra Frank  
So do u want to come visit? We got a fold out couch and everything now u can come hang out it will be fun!!

Pat sighs.

“What’s that about?” Simone says.

“My friend in New York keeps asking me if I want to come visit. I keep, uh, sort of giving non-answers. I should probably let her know one way or another, I guess,” Pat says.

“Do you not want to?” Simone asks.

“I mean. Kind of? I do and I don’t. It’d be nice to see her and Thomas. But. I’m worried it’ll be weird.”

“Tell her you won’t go without Brian.”

_“Simone,”_ says Brian, but Pat laughs.

“Yeah, that’d go over well,” he says.

“Noo, that’s the point, then if they say no you have an excuse not to come,” Simone says. Brian is staring at Simone very hard with an expression that is unreadable to Pat. “And if they say yes, if you decide you don’t want to go you can say Brian can’t come. Or you can go with him. Or you can go without him.”

“Sure, volunteer your friend to go on a trip, why not,” Pat says. He glances at Brian. “I doubt you’d even —“

“I mean, I’d go,” Brian says, cutting Pat off. “But I don’t know if you’d —”

“Oh my god, both of you are ridiculous,” Simone says. “I am glad that I have to go this way now so I don’t have to listen to you be awkward.” She turns and walks away with a wave and a smile. Brian and Pat exchange a look.

“Should I text her that, then?” Pat says.

“I mean. If you want to,” Brian says. “Can’t hurt, right? And if you go and decide you don’t want to take me, that’s fine.”

“Honestly, I could use a buffer,” Pat mutters, typing.

11:12 AM | Patrick Gill  
I’ll come if I can take Brian lol

“A buffer? Are things that weird between you guys?”

Pat shrugs. “I just don’t know how it’s gonna be, seeing them in person again.”

Brian nods. He studies Pat, like something in his expression is going to tell him everything. Which it probably will, to be honest. “Bad breakup, or something?” Brian says, cautiously.

“Or something,” Pat says, wryly. “Legs — Allegra — she and I —” Pat winces, to even think about it. “Well. I was a dumbass, basically, is that it boils down to. Things are alright now. I think she partly wants me to visit to see if things really are smoothed over as much as we both want them to be. Which is fair. I’d like to know that things are normal, too. I dunno why she’s giving me another chance, but, I guess she likes me as a human being, or something.”

“Well, yeah!” Brian says, nudging Pat with his shoulder. “I think you’re pretty likeable.”

Pat can’t help the smile he gets at that. “That’s nice of you to say. I dunno. I worry too much, probably. Also I think maybe they want to make sure I’m not perishing in the wilderness? I may have been hit pretty hard by a depressive episode, possibly, perhaps, right around when I moved here.”

“That is very understandable,” Brian says.

“Thanks. I think so too.” He would tell him about what actually happened, but he can’t find the place in him where he can be blunt and blasé about it. Too tired of talking about it to ride off the shock factor, too new and uncomfortable about it to be genuine and honest. He’s spared, though, when his phone goes off again.

11:18 AM | Allegra Frank  
OMG YES PLEASE BRING HIM  
YOU WERE PROBABLY JOKING BUT LIKE BRING HIM ANYWAY!!!!

Pat shows Brian the text, and Brian gives him a hesitant little smile.

“So. You wanna go to New York City?” Pat asks, maybe too earnestly.

“Absolutely, Pat Gill,” Brian says, his smile blossoming into something real and warm.

 

Well, shit.

Pat’s going on a road trip to New York City with the guy he’s got a massive crush on.

What could possibly go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does anyone in this house care abt instrumental/classical music at all bc i keep sneaking titles of pieces for orchestra/wind ensemble into my writing because i'm a nerd and anyway i might make a playlist of the SECRET REFERENCES
> 
> i also have an actual playlist, it's linked on my twitter but i'll link it here at some point too prob


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning ahoy! a character in this chapter has a panic attack and there is a lot of discussion about internalized homophobia
> 
> buckle up kids its road trip time

1:35 PM | Patrick Gill  
Griffin I agreed to take brian to nyc to visit the 2 friends I have left there. on a scale of 1000-infinity how much of a dumbass am I

1:38 PM | Griffin McElroy  
LMAOOOOO GOOD LUCK GILL  
Driving or flying?

1:39 PM | Patrick Gill  
Driving

1:39 PM | Griffin McElroy  
Ohhhhhh my god  
If you aren’t dating by the time you come home I’m locking you both in a closet until you confess your feelings

1:40 PM | Patrick Gill  
YOU ARE NOT HELPING  
Why did I tell you this. You are the worst. I am having a crisis and you are making fun of me  
I don’t need any more closets anyway!!

1:41 PM | Griffin McElroy  
What else are friends for if not to give u shit for having crushes  
Seriously though pat I think you’ll be okay

1:42 PM | Patrick Gill  
Yea it’s not like I have weird complicated feelings with everyone I’m going to be staying with for at least a week  
OH WAIT.

1:42 PM | Griffin McElroy  
Wait even ur dude friend? Whats his face

1:43 PM | Patrick Gill  
Thomas  
Idk things are probably fine I’m prob blowing it out of proportion

1:43 PM | Griffin McElroy  
Uh yeah

1:44 PM | Patrick Gill  
Wow thanks for the reassurance!!!  
He just got real distant after the shit w legs bc he’s closer to her than me. In the literal sense now I guess too lmao  
Idk I know he’s bi so it’s not like the queer thing bugs him I think he’s just protective of her. Which. Fair enough. Anyone would be protective of their best friend when they have a crush go bad. I think if it had been any other configuration of us in the situation me and legs were in, the other person would’ve done the same as him. Bc what else are you gonna do when your 2 closest friends suddenly have weird shit between them and u don’t wanna be caught in the middle  
Idk!! Idk things were fine again after I moved like we still talk and stuff  
I think I may be having a small anxiety attack I am going to go take a shower and try to chill tf out  
I guess I wish I’d had someone who I could talk to about how I was feeling bc I was kind of scared shitless about 3498349 different things like jfc my entire life got torn up in less than a month  
Wow not to get too real or w/e :grimacing:

1:59 PM | Griffin McElroy  
That’s so fair though  
Let me know if you want me to come over? You can vent to me about all the gay troubles u may have. I do not mind at all

2:00 PM | Patrick Gill  
I’ll be fine I think. Thank u though I really appreciate it

 

He does feel a little better, after he showers. He has shit to do, anyway -- has to feed Charlie (oh god and find someone to take care of him while he’s away, maybe Griffin will) and make dinner (jeez he’s gotta go to the store he’s out of, like, everything) and clean (ugh) and figure out what to do with his Twitch while he’s in New York (shit he’s gotta figure out if he’s actually gonna get Brian on regularly and if he’s gonna do something with Thomas and Legs while he’s there and if so what he’s gonna do with any of them) —

He flops facedown on his bed with an _oof_ and considers the merits of staying in this spot permanently.

 

Pat’s week continues with a vague but constant sense of anxiety. They settle on a date (only a week away! Why did he do this! That’s not enough time to emotionally prepare!) and Pat throws himself into whatever he can do to keep from freaking out. He cleans, he pesters Griffin into agreeing to take care of Charlie, he packs, he worries, he unpacks, he packs again. He even cleans his goddamn car. Like, the inside. And _vacuums._ Nothing like not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of a crush to make you work, he supposes.

Brian shows up promptly on Friday after lunch, just as Pat walks outside to put his stuff in the car. Brian has a backpack slung over his shoulder, his hair falling in his face but not able to hide his smile. He tosses his head to get his hair out of his eyes and says, “Hey, Pat!”

“Hey, you. Ready to go?”

“Yeah!”

God, he looks so damn excited. Pat wonders how much he’s ever even left Maine, much less this tiny town. He’d guess not a lot, judging by the way Brian bounces happily around the car to put his bag in the back and bounds back over to the passenger side.

“You can be in charge of the playlist, if you want,” Pat says, as he gets in, and Brian looks pleased by this too. He unlocks his phone and, presumably, starts scrolling through his music, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrates. _Hey, Patrick, don’t stare at his fucking tongue. Jesus._

Pat is not at all surprised when Brian selects something as on-the-nose as _Run Away With Me,_ the intro blaring from his speakers loudly enough to make them both startle.

Pat is quiet, focusing on navigating the hellish dirt roads through and around the woods. Brian doesn’t pester him to talk. Instead, Pat can hear his fingers tapping on the armrest to the beat — then him softly humming along — and then singing along. Pat can feel a blush creeping up the back of his neck, for no reason at all other than Brian is goddamn _cute_ and also, he is worried he might get roped into singing along and he hates that.

But the song fades into something quieter and Brian stops singing and says, “So what’ve you been up to this week? I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Pat can’t say _having a slow-burn anxiety attack for several consecutive days,_ probably, so he says, “Just — uh — boring shit, mostly. Cleaning and pretending to be a functional human being.”

“Oh, god, anything but that,” Brian says. “How’s Charlie?”

“I’m sure he’s thrilled to have Griffin invading his space for the next two weeks,” Pat says.

“Wouldn’t anyone?” Brian laughs. “Nah, really, Griff’s great.”

“Yeah,” Pat says, chancing a quick glance over at Brian. “He, uh, he was really helpful when I was having one of my persistent sexuality crises. He let me dump all my shit on him and didn’t even make fun of me for it. Well. Not in a mean way, or anything. He’s just — y’know — he teases, but it’s friendly.”

“Yeah, he’s a dork. All three of them are. I’m — I’m glad you had someone to talk to about that,” Brian says, looking right at Pat. “It’s important having people to support you.”

“You’re right,” Pat says. He speaks a little more quietly, now, as if Brian needing to strain to hear him between the rush of highway noise and the music might make it easier. “I only had one other queer friend in New York, and he kind of.” Pat sighs. “He kind of stopped talking to me for a hot minute, ‘cause I.” He feels his heart skip a beat in pure anxiety and figures he might as well bite the fucking bullet, he’s already got the adrenaline rush for it, and just tell Brian what actually happened. Let him know what kind of person Pat actually is, while he can still turn the car around.

He keeps his eyes focused on the road, looking everywhere but at Brian. “He and Allegra and I were best friends; we all got hired at about the same time and we immediately clicked. They’re, like, the same age — I’m like six years older than them,” he adds, with a bit of a wince. “— so they have more in common with each other than I do with them, probably, but we all got along super well and so we’d hang out all the time. And then it turned out Legs had a great big crush on me — which I didn’t even know, because I’m a dumbass — Thomas mentioned it once because he was sure I knew and I was like wait what the _fuck.”_

“To be fair, knowing when people are flirting is super hard,” Brian puts in.

“Exactly! It’s the worst. And I was like, well, I didn’t know if I liked her back, exactly, but I did know that she was my best friend in the entire world and I sure as hell _wanted_ to like her back. Which, through some circular logic, I managed to convince myself was the same thing. If I want to have a crush on her, that probably means I have a crush on her, right? No, Patrick, not right, actually. Not at all.” His lips twist into a wry sort of grimace.

He continues, though. “I tried really hard to, like, sprout feelings for her, while also not examining my real thoughts too closely, because — well, because I didn’t want to. Which is stupid, and can never end well, and it didn’t end well at all because we ended up hooking up and that was the catalyst of, like, oh great! I literally physically cannot deny I’m gay anymore! Sorry to my very best friend in the world for completely destroying our friendship, I guess!”

He’s still angry at himself. He’s not sure he’s ever not going to be angry at himself. He can’t make himself look at Brian.

He keeps talking, instead. “So then, like, I’m trying to deal with this massive fucking personal revelation on top of the fact that I’m about to lose my apartment when my roommate moves out because I can’t afford to live there, and things are so fucking awkward between me and Legs that we could hardly exchange a couple sentences with each other. And she and Thomas were closer, and she’s the one who got her feelings carelessly drop-kicked to the ground by my selfish ass because I refused to examine my own goddamn thoughts and motivations for even one fucking second. So of course he was there for her. And I’m glad he was, because I sure as hell wasn’t. But that means I didn’t have a single fucking person to talk to about how my entire life was falling apart and -- fuck,” he says, and drags the back of his hand over his cheek to wipe away the errant tears that have escaped his traitorous eyes.

“Pat, d’you need to pull over?” Brian says. Pat still won’t look at him.

“No. I’m fine.” He takes a deep breath — fuck, it even sounds shuddery, shaky — and blinks hard and he’s fine, he is fine, he’s totally okay.

“Pat —”

“I’m fine, Brian, okay? It already happened. It’s done. I’m fine.”

“You’re taking the next exit and parking at the first gas station we see until you’re actually fine and then I’m going to buy all the candy in the place and that is non-negotiable, Patrick Gill.”

Fuck.

He does what he’s told, and by the time he turns off the car he’s real fucking glad of it because he’s shaking, he’s shaking all over and biting the inside of his lip to try and keep from falling apart.

Brian tugs at Pat’s sleeve and he finally does turn to face him and Brian pulls him into a fierce, tight hug. It’s uncomfortable; Pat is twisted awkwardly and they’re leaning over the weird bulky armrest and Pat has’t even unbuckled his damn seatbelt yet but he fucking _clings_ to Brian like his life depends on it.

It’s not the fun kind of crying. It’s not even the mild, kinda pathetic kind. It’s the ugly, awful kind; the sort where his whole body shakes with horrible wrenching uncontrollable sobs and shuddering gasps for breath. A probably-alarmed Brian makes gentle shushing-comforting noises at him and pets at his hair, at his back. He feels like the only solid thing in the world to Pat, at the moment; he’s warm and steady and his hands trace down the knobs of his spine and Pat is so awful and wretched and messy, he doesn’t deserve this kindness that Brian has presented him with.

“Aw, Pat, c’mon, don’t say that,” Brian says softly. “Of course you do. Of _course_ you do. You’re doing your best.”

It is so hard to get words out around what his body is doing to him, around the awful hitching sobs that interrupt his every breath, but he tries. “I might be doing my best but it’s not — it’s not _good_ — I should’ve — should’ve been less of a fucking _asshole_ — everyone around me deserves better than that — and I can’t even chill the fuck out and get over it —”

“Pat. Patrick. Listen to me,” Brian says. His voice is so fucking gentle. He’s stroking Pat’s hair. It’s a lot to take in. “This shit is hard. You didn’t set out to hurt anyone; you were trying to find your way forward. And you made some mistakes. And that’s _okay._ I swear to you it’s okay. Look, she’s inviting you to her house for two whole weeks, right? That’s not something that someone who’s holding a grudge would do.”

“No — she’s not mad at me and that’s _worse.”_

“Why is it worse?” So _gentle,_ this man.

“She — she — she _should_ be. I deserve it.”

“That’s not true.” Brian fucking nuzzles the top of his head. It is too sweet and all Pat can do is cling to him harder. “Tell me what you think makes you deserve it.”

Pat chokes on his words for a moment before he can manage to spit out, “I should’ve been able to just fucking do it. Why couldn’t I have just loved her back? What the hell is wrong with me?”

Brian makes a soft sad sound and it shuts Pat up more effectively than anything else could’ve. “That’s not your fault,” Brian says, so earnestly it _aches._ “You can’t blame yourself for that. It’s — it’s okay that you couldn’t. That you can’t. It’s okay that you’re taking a different path than the one you thought you’d be on. There is nothing — nothing at _all_ — wrong with you. I promise, Pat Gill. I mean it. You’re allowed to break the arbitrary rules you’ve set for yourself. You don’t have to try to be with anyone just because you feel like you’re supposed to. You’re allowed to do what makes you happy, whatever that means for you.”

Pat pushes his face hard against Brian’s shoulder, as if he could bury himself there, as if by sheer proximity he could absorb the words, the sentiment, the confidence that Brian has. Brian keeps petting at him and lets him cry all over his shirt and doesn’t even care, just periodically offers gentle murmured sentiments, reassurances that _it’s okay, you’re okay, it’s gonna be okay, I promise._

When he can finally sit back and wipe at his face and give Brian a tentative, shaky smile, he has a red indent in the side of his neck from where the seatbelt was pressed against it and a back that is very irritated at him for being all twisted-up sideways into Brian’s arms.

But the smile Brian gives him in return is worth it — gentle, genuine, relieved, if maybe still a touch worried.

“C’mon, Pat Gill. Let’s get some junk food and eat our feelings, shall we?”

Pat laughs, and Brian smiles, and they get out of the car.

 

Brian interrogates Pat on what his favorite candies are, ignores Pat’s protests that he _doesn’t need it no really Brian,_ lets Pat wander off to track down some truly awful gas station coffee as he selects one of those glass-bottled Starbucks drinks that make Pat’s stomach hurt to even so much as look at, ignores Pat again when he tries to buy his own dang candy and then buys his terrible coffee for him too for good measure. The cashier stares blankly at them as they bicker; they could clearly not give less of a shit.

As they walk outside, Pat says, “Brian, you didn’t have t —”

“I am not hearing it, Patrick! You can, should, and will have chocolate in proportion to a breakdown and that is all there is to say on the matter.” Brian pushes the bag into Pat’s hands as punctuation.

“Thank you,” Pat says meekly.

“I’d offer to drive but I don’t have a license. Sorry,” Brian says. “Are you feeling any better?”

“A bit, yeah. I mean. Kinda shaky, but, uh, I am pretty fuckin’ sure that was a panic attack and that’s to be expected.”

“Should you be having caffeine, after that?” Brian says, looking doubtfully at the cup of coffee in Pat’s hand.

“Probably not,” Pat says, and takes a sip of it anyway. Brian sighs at him. “It’s fine. I just need a little time to chill. Driving will help, honestly, it’ll give me something else to think about. We can turn on some nice music or something and, I dunno, talk about something that’s not my black hole of a romantic life.”

“Pat,” Brian says sternly.

“What! I’m not wrong!”

“You should be nicer to yourself. It’s easy to internalize those things when you say them,” Brian says. Pat blinks at him. “What? I go to therapy! It’s good for you.”

“I didn’t know there was a therapist in town.”

“Oh, there’s not. I Skype them. Remind me later, I can give you their email.”

Pat is perplexed by this curveball in the conversation, but acquiesces easily enough. Brian, appeased, offers Pat a Twizzler. He accepts, even though they make his mouth tingly, and holds it in his teeth, lets it hang out of the corner of his mouth like an overlong droopy red cigar as he starts the car, just to make Brian laugh.

“Real badass look, Pat Gill,” Brian says.

“Thanks,” Pat says, through still-clenched teeth. “I think it’sh gonna be the new trend.”

“Oh, I believe it. You’re very fashion-forward.” That little mischievous grin of Brian’s is going to be the end of Pat, he’s certain of it.

 

Brian is wiggly and chatty and prone to singing along with snatches of whatever song is playing, and between his vibrant presence and driving, Pat feels the tight grasp of anxiety around his chest start to loosen. Even his hands stop shaking within the hour.

Like — he’s nervous about seeing Legs and Thomas, of course he is, but Brian goes off on a whole explanation about a _Final Fantasy_ game that Pat’s never even played and why it is absolutely the best, Pat, oh my god, I can’t believe you’ve never played it and you _worked for video games,_ and he even manages to get Pat to laugh, so he can’t focus on his nerves.

Brian points out every horse they drive past, even though there’s a metric fuckton of them, and then starts making acronyms out of the letters in license plates, until he gives up on coming up with bizarre sets of words and turns to Pat.

“What’s it like?” Brian ventures to ask, well into the second hour of their driving. “In the city, I mean. And your friends. I wanna know what I’m getting into.”

“I still can’t believe you agreed to this,” Pat says. “You’re crazy.”

“Yeah, well! Some things you just can’t miss the chance for.”

Pat doesn’t even need to look at Brian (he does anyway) to know he’s smiling at him, too genuine, too sweet. Pat fumbles the emotional delivery and gives Brian an awkward smile in return.

“Have you been to any big cities before?” Pat feels like it’s a silly question, when he asks, but Brian gets a little sheepish.

“No. I’ve, uh, never left Maine.”

“Ever?”

“Nope.”

“Wait, Simone said — didn’t she say you went to college out of state? Hopkins or something?”

“Online courses, Pat Gill, they’ll get you anywhere you want to go,” Brian says, with a wry sort of smile.

“Shit, dude, that’s wild. No wonder you wanted to come. Is there like — a reason? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Brian shrugs. “Not especially. I mean, my family’s pretty firmly rooted in Maine, and there’s a bunch of us — you haven’t met my brother or mom, but they both live pretty nearby, and the rest of my family does too. Most everyone’s within walking distance, if you’re persistent. And we didn’t have a ton of, y’know, funding for vacations, not with three kids and whatever other miscellaneous family who wanted to tag along. Also, not a lot of us drive? Which is kind of inconvenient, when you want to get anywhere out of town, but it is what it is, I guess.”

“That makes sense,” Pat says, because it does well enough, though he can’t imagine being so stuck in the same boring little place his whole life without even being able to hop in a car and drive to the next town over. God. Talk about claustrophobia.

“What about you? I know you said you grew up in Maine,” Brian says.

“Yeah. My family still lives there, I just didn’t want to move back in with them. I’d already left, y’know? I wanted something different. That’s why I moved to New York in the first place. And, fuck, it sure doesn’t get more different than that. I’m — surprised, that you haven’t been there. Or anywhere. It seems like it’d suit you. Big city life, y’know, art and music and all that shit.”

Brian laughs. “Probably not, if I’m being honest. I like being out in nature too much. But I’ve always been curious. I love my family and my friends, but it might be nice to branch out, if I could.”

Pat feels a little pang in his chest, at the idea of his favorite thing about his new residence going away. But he gets that, he really does. “It’s not a bad idea, if you can. Family’s important, but it’s good to get a sense of yourself, too.” Oh, god. Fuck. He’s managed to completely put the thought of coming out to his family out of his mind. Shit.

He shrugs it off, with effort. He can deal with that later. Not now. He does not need yet another freakout. “Did, uh. Did Legs text me about where we’re supposed to be parking? She said she would.”

Brian fishes Pat’s phone out of the cupholder. “Yeah, she did. Do you want me to reply?”

“Sure. Passcode’s 2769, tell her we’re gonna be there in like — I dunno, forty-five minutes or so? If you say anything weird you have to tell her it’s you.”

“I would never,” Brian says, like a liar. “I’ll sign it anyway so she knows you’re not texting and driving.”

Pat feels his anxiety start to ramp up again, as they get closer. It doesn’t help that he didn’t drive much when he lived out here, and everything is weirdly familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Brian reads out the directions to Allegra’s apartment building, but they get stuck in traffic for-fucking-ever. Pat drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

“You ‘kay?” Brian asks, softly.

“Yeah, just nervous.”

“Understandable. I’m sure it’s gonna be fine,” Brian says.

“I hope so,” Pat says, and tries for a smile. It comes more easily than he’d expected it to.

 

He calls Legs, once he’s finally tracked down where to park. She answers on the first ring.

“Pat! Are you here?”

“Just parked. You gonna need to come down to let us in?”

“I’ll buzz you in, it’s cool. Are you coming now?”

“Hold your damn horses, I literally just turned off the car, give me two seconds to get my shit together.”

“Ugh, fine, I _guess,”_ she says. Pat can hear the smile in her voice. There is muffled talking in the background, in Thomas’s pitch, though Pat can’t make out what he’s saying. “Yeah, they’re here! They’re gonna be up in a second,” Allegra says, a little quieter, like she’s moved the phone away from her mouth.

“Brian, you got your stuff?” Pat says, taking advantage of the pause in conversation to check in with him. Brian clears his throat and chirps out a _yeah!_ as Pat juggles his own phone and bag and whatever other nonsense he’s got. “‘Kay, Legs, we’re walking now. I’ll text you when we get there?”

“Okay! See you in a few!”

 

Brian is looking around with wide eyes. “Jeez Louise, it’s loud here. And smelly.”

“Yep! Charming, right?”

Brian grins at him. “Kind of!”

Pat walks quickly, an ingrained habit from his year’s residency, but Brian is at his heels, even though Pat is sure he probably wants to slow down and look around. There’ll be time for that, later. Right now he just wants to get inside, get this over with, stop praying that things are gonna be normal and see if they are already.

He texts Legs, once they’re in the entryway, and moments later there’s a crackly buzz from god-knows-where and the door clicks unlocked and they go inside. She’s way up towards the top of the building, but Pat’s been here plenty before and knows where the elevator is and knows which door is hers and he hardly raps his knuckles once against the door before it swings open.

Allegra is smiling, and Pat only has half a second to register that before she almost knocks him backwards in a fierce hug, and he’s so surprised but he laughs and uses her momentum to swing her around in a half-circle before he lets her go.

“Oh my god, Pat, you look so much less dead than the last time I saw you!” she says.

“Wow, thank you. Really. I’m so flattered,” he says, dryly, and she just laughs.

“Hi, Brian!”

“Hi, Allegra. It’s nice to meet you,” Brian says, and he’s just shy enough for his cheeks to be a little pink which is too cute to even be reasonable, and the two of them have an awkward fumbly moment where they can’t decide if they should shake hands or what and then they give up and hug, both of them giggling. Yeah, they’re gonna get along just fine.

They actually make it inside the apartment, and Legs leans into the hallway. “Thomas, hurry up, you loser, come say hello!”

“I’m over here,” says Thomas, appearing from the kitchen area. “Hey, guys,” he adds, to Brian and Pat. He looks genuinely happy to see them, and Pat is hit with a second tidal wave of relief as he crosses the room to hug Pat and then do the same awkward shuffle with Brian that just happened with Legs in the hallway. She and Pat exchange an amused look.

“I hope y’all don’t mind sharing a bed, ‘cause you have no choice,” Legs says. Pat snorts. “Put your stuff by the couch, I guess, we can fold it out later. Do you guys want to go out for food, or stay here?”

Pat drops his stuff next to the couch, and then flops onto it with an _oof._ “Legs, you know perfectly well I am allergic to doing things.”

“Pat Gill, you are the most boring person alive,” Brian says. He gently bonks Pat on the shoulder with his backpack on the way to put it down next to Pat’s.

“He really is,” Thomas chips in. “He never went to karaoke night. Not even once.”

“Someone please remind me why I thought it was a good idea to spend two weeks with three people who have the express intent of putting me on blast at all times,” Pat says, his voice muffled, because he has shoved his face into the couch cushion.

“What? I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you being a boring nerd,” says Legs.

“Why am I friends with any of you!” Pat exclaims, dismayed, rolling over onto his back and dramatically clutching at his hair.

“‘Cause you love us,” Thomas says, smugly.

“Yeah, but shut up, no one can know I have feelings,” Pat grumbles.

“Unfortunately, Patrick, I think we are all very aware that you have feelings,” Legs informs him. Pat makes a face at her.

“Is being a dork a feeling? I think that’s Pat’s biggest emotion,” Brian says.

“I like you,” Legs says. “Pat, where’d you find this guy? I’m keeping him.”

“Nuh- _uh,”_ says Brian. “I am no one’s kept man! Not yours, not Pat’s, not even Thomas’s.”

“Aw, that’s a shame,” Thomas says. Brian rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, loving it, loving the attention. Pat wants to reach out and grab his hand but he can’t, and he won’t, but it can’t hurt to think about it, at least. He drags himself into a sitting position and pushes his hair out of his face.

“Whatever. You’re all jerks. What were you thinking for food?” Pat says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it seems like the remaining chapters are going to be a bit shorter than the previous ones -- i really should have measured these things out better before i started posting them sdfkjgsddkfj -- but !!!! i hope you enjoy them nonetheless


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [NEW YORK, NEW YORK, A HELL OF A TOWN -- ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUASmqqiOgc)
> 
> this doesnt have anything to do with the fic but i find it inordinately funny to exchange curses for other ones and keep making myself laugh by changing the words to NEW YORK NEW YORK A FUCK OF A TOWN
> 
> anyway enjoy this chapter sdkfjdghskfjhgskdjf

Allegra unsurprisingly takes to Brian immediately. Thomas is a bit more reserved, but he always is, and Pat’s not worried. He sees Thomas smile when Legs links her arm through Brian’s as they walk outside, both of them talking eagerly about something-or-other. She’s gesturing to things as Brian attentively takes them in, letting her guide his eyes to the real interesting things.

“How’re you doing?” Thomas says, quietly, as they fall in step together behind their companions. “Things okay in Maine?”

“Yeah. Things are alright. Everyone’s really nice. I’ve sort of — sort of accidentally found myself in, like, an actual community of other queer people?” It’s strange, to fit his mouth around the words, but he’s trying so hard to be candid.

“That’s so good,” Thomas says, smiling at him. “I’m happy for you.”

“It’s really nice,” Pat confesses. “I’ve never had this before. I don’t feel like I have to hide. Like, I’m still getting — used to it, and talking about it is still fuckin’ scary, most of the time, but it’s. It’s good. To have support.” He glances at Thomas, and then isn’t sure what expression he’s got on his own face so he looks away, quickly, at the ground instead.

“Yeah. I, uh. I’m sorry, for what it’s worth, for kind of shutting you out. I wasn’t sure — god, this is so dumb, because I know you better than this — but there was a part of me that was, like, worried? That — y’know, what happened — was just, like, emotional collateral damage. Like, I was afraid that her feelings were tangential to whatever was going on on your end.” He winces at whatever must show on Pat’s face.

He keeps talking, quickly, in hopes of reassuring him. “I know! I know, I’m sorry, that’s a fucked up thing to assume. But Allegra didn’t — she didn’t tell me all that much, not specifically, ‘cause I think she wanted to try and respect your privacy as much as she could. So I really didn’t know how to take it. And — I guess — part of it’s the privilege of being able to address my own sexuality and be out about it for, like, ever. It’s sometimes hard, from that frame of reference, to remember how it can be so much different for other people. And it’s really short-sighted, to not have even considered that maybe you really _didn’t_ know, until then, and you weren’t just — I dunno — trying to force yourself to be straight, or something. Stranger things have happened.”

Pat doesn’t know what to say. He’s afraid his voice is going to come out all strangled if he talks.

“So. I really am sorry, for assuming the worst. I was worried about Allegra, but I didn’t even think about how you might be feeling. And I’m really, really glad you’ve found people who can give you the support that you need.”

Pat tries for a smile, and knows it’s unconvincing and shaky. “Yeah. Man, what’d she tell you, that that was your first assumption?” he asks, attempting casual, missing it by a long shot.

“Just that — just what happened, and that afterwards you told her you were gay. Literally hardly any details.”

“Did she tell you I cried?”

“No, god, did you?”

“It was awful. I was a disaster. Like. I appreciate her trying to keep my privacy intact, but man, I’d almost rather she’d have told you the whole thing. I was real fucked up about it. I _am_ real fucked up about it. I told Brian about it in the car earlier and had a panic attack bad enough that we had to stop somewhere for a while. I — I never wanted to hurt her. I’d managed to convince myself that wanting to like someone was the same as actually feeling that way. Because I’ve spent my whole life like that.”

“Pat,” Thomas starts, softly, but Pat isn’t finished.

“I feel awful that that was the catalyst. I wish it had been anything else. But it was like — well, if I can’t feel this way about the person I love best and care most about in the world… I can’t keep fooling myself, can I? It was like — I was just — ignoring it. Shoving it away. Refusing to let myself think about it.” Pat drags a hand through his hair. “The only good thing about this whole mess is that I’m finally starting to pay attention to what I’m thinking and feeling, instead of refusing to acknowledge any of it.”

“Hey, that’s pretty good though, right? That’s important.”

“Yeah. Not sure it was worth it, though,” Pat says, wryly.

Thomas shrugs. “I don’t think it’s ever as simple as if it’s worth it. But you’re here, and obviously things are okay between the two of you, and we finally managed to have a conversation about this, so I think… I think by any metric, you’re doing pretty alright.”

“I hope so,” says Pat.

Thomas smiles, then, and nudges him with his shoulder. “And you’ve got that fuckin’ cutie who’s clearly gone on you —”

“Shut up! Shush, oh my god, don’t make shit up like that,” Pat hisses, swatting him (gently) on the arm in retaliation.

“Oh, I’m definitely not making it up,” Thomas says smugly.

“You are the worst.”

“Yeah, I know. But you’re my friend anyway?” There is almost doubt, in Thomas’s tone, like he’s afraid that he might have ruined it.

“Of course, you dumbass,” Pat says, affectionately, and Thomas grins — genuine, in a way Pat hasn’t seen from him in a long time.

 

They wind up at Pat’s favorite pizza place, the one with the square pizzas, and Brian is distracted, texting, frowning a bit.

“Everything okay?” Pat says, sliding into the booth next to him.

“Yeah, just Laura, making sure I got here okay,” Brian says. He clears his throat and slides his phone back into his pocket. “It’s crazy to think that you lived here. It’s so — I mean, I know you said it’s different, but jeez, it’s _different.”_

Pat laughs. “Yeah, I know, right? That’s why I had such a hard time when I moved back to Maine. Well. Part of it, anyway.” A self-effacing grimace. “What do you think of it? Is it a good kind of different?”

Brian takes a moment to consider this. “It’s loud,” he says, “and there’s a lot to look at, and it’s nothing like home. And. It’s cool as hell.” He grins, and Pat feels some tension he didn’t know he was holding leave him.

It’s not like this is his home. Not like it really ever was, honestly. In the scheme of things, what’s a year? But it was important. And new. And terrifying. And he’s so, so glad to have Brian sitting by his side, smiling, now that he’s back again.

Now that all the weird conversations are out of the way — so Pat hopes, anyway — they fall into their easy rapport again, with the addition of one charming snarky doofus. It’s like that’s exactly what their dynamic needed: someone who can make all of them laugh and who will wink at them to emphasize a double meaning and who is as quick-witted as Legs so Pat and Thomas can watch their banter like a tennis match.

They don’t linger out, after dinner, because it’s been a long week for all of them — and a long day for at least some of them — and none of them are especially up for too much mischief tonight.

“Tomorrow, though, maybe,” Brian says, with a teasing little grin.

“If you are up for it we are going to par-ty, okay!” Legs says, looking thrilled to have someone else who likes to actually go out and do things, unlike her massively introverted other friends.

“Hell yeah,” Brian says with a grin, as they walk outside, and then promptly breaks into a coughing fit when he is immediately engulfed in a cloud of someone’s cigarette smoke. He scowls, looking away from the person, looking somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed.

“You alright?” Pat says, falling in step with him.

“Yeah,” Brian says, recovering as they walk away. “Just, uh, aggravates my asthma. I always feel kinda bad because I’m sure they see enough people staging coughing fits but.” He shrugs. “Can’t help it. It would be cool if they didn’t smoke right outside the door, though.”

“Yeah, that’s a dick move,” Thomas agrees, from behind them.

“Justin would do that all the time and I’d threaten to slam-dunk him into the garbage can,” Brian says cheerfully. “I’m glad he’s stopped.”

“That seems like a reasonable enough punishment. I doubt Chelsea would’ve stopped you,” Pat says, and Brian laughs.

“She probably wouldn’t!” Brian glances over his shoulder at Legs and Thomas. “You guys have to visit us next, you have to meet everyone, I know they’d all love you.”

“Seriously. I’d like to have Pat’s stories make sense, jeez. I need, like, one of those Broadway programs where it’s got a little headshot and the name and a description of everyone,” Legs says, and Brian laughs.

“I’m gonna make you one. I’ll make a spreadsheet,” Brian says.

“I think you just like making spreadsheets,” Pat says.

“Is that a crime! I don’t think so!” says Brian.

“Oh my god,” Legs says. “Brian, what do you even do for work?”

“Right now? Writing music. Being technically unemployed. Being chaotically bisexual. Well. That’s not work, that’s just my life. Uh. I do like a good spreadsheet, though. Know anyone who wants the Pokemon sorted by rhyming phoneme and metrical foot?”

“What the fuck,” Thomas and Pat both say, at the exact same time.

“Tell me you didn’t do that of your own volition,” Pat says.

“I mean, sure, I’ll tell you that,” Brian says, and he’s grinning. “But I’d be lying.”

“I have finally found someone who’s deeper in over their head into video game research than I am,” Thomas says. Pat can basically see the hearts in his eyes. “Can I see the spreadsheet?”

“Sure, I’ll pull it up when we get back,” Brian says, cheerfully. “What’s all your research for?”

“He’s gone viral,” Legs chips in.

“Shut up,” Thomas says, without real annoyance. “I don’t want people to know I’m famous on the internet for talking about video games, that’s _embarrassing._ I, uh, I do this video series, it’s called _Unraveled,_ I get way into super bizarre facts and lore about games that no one gives a shit about and then somehow that makes people care about them?”

“He did an episode about, like, actual astronomy as it applies to the _Super Mario Galaxy_ series and it got, like, a kajillion views. Like, he talked about gravitational pull, who gives a shit! Apparently the geeks on the internet!” Legs says.

“That’s amazing,” Brian says. Pat can basically see him become the heart-eyes emoji, too, and he exchanges a glance with Legs. “That is so entirely my shit. I love putting a ton of effort into things that ultimately have very little meaning.”

“God, don’t call me out like this,” Thomas groans. “You’re right and I wish you wouldn’t say it.”

 

So that’s how the evening goes. They fold out the couch into a bed and then all four of them park themselves on it to show each other the strange collection of things that they’ve tried to reference to an unknowing audience over the course of the night. They gather around Pat’s laptop. Brian is terribly charmed by Thomas’s videos; Thomas is terribly charmed by Brian’s organizational skills.

“They’re going to collaborate on something and it’s going to murder all of us,” Legs says, leaning over to say this as an aside to Pat.

“Yep. I, for one, look forward to it,” Pat says solemnly, and she laughs.

Legs falls asleep halfway through one of Thomas’s videos, which is normal, because she falls asleep during everything, but also is a clear enough sign that they should all go to bed. Thomas fusses over them all, sorting out who gets the bathroom in what order and showing them how to work the shower until Legs says _okay we get it Thomas let me brush my teeth!!!_

Pat takes the opportunity to shower, because he’s earned it, after driving and crying and driving some more and being very acceptably social. He opens the door after he gets dressed again, while he brushes his teeth, because the mirror is all fogged up and he can’t see shit and also it’s hot and he doesn’t want to get all sweaty from the humidity, he just showered, he hasn’t _moved._

He can hear Brian’s voice faintly from the living room.

“Laura, c’mon… I didn’t ‘cause I knew that’s what you’d say! It’s _fine._ I’m —” He sighs, his aggravation clear from down the hall. “Look. Pat’s gonna be out of the bathroom any minute, I can’t talk forever. I can handle… Yes, Laura, I did, you ask too little of me! I’m not a complete dumbass, okay? Well. Maybe. Whatever. I’ll be back in two weeks. It’s only like three hours away. Alright? … Oh my god. I’m not the first one to — !” He’s cut off. There’s a longer pause, then another sigh, this one more resigned. “Yeah, I will. You’re going to have to put up with all my annoying Snapchats. Hah! … Okay. Love you too. Talk to you soon. Bye.”

Pat raises his eyebrows, exchanging a look with no one but himself in the mirror. He finishes getting ready for bed and comes back out to the living room. Brian is sprawled out on the right side of the couch-bed, staring at the ceiling, his phone resting facedown on his chest. He looks up at Pat, when he walks in, greets him with a cheerful _hey._

“What’s up?” says Pat, kneeling to rummage around in his bag for his phone charger.

“Just got off the phone with Laura,” Brian says. He’s a good actor, Pat’ll give him that. He wouldn’t know from his disposition that he’d just been… arguing? With her?

“Oh, cool. I’m sure she’s glad you got here safe and sound? You did tell her you were coming, right?” Pat says, passing it off as teasing; his tone is light and he smiles at him. Brian laughs, but then sobers somewhat.

“I, uh, may have neglected to mention it. She was a little peeved.”

Jeez. “Worried about you going off with some weird dude?”

“Ha! No, not that at all, she likes you lots,” Brian says. Pat finds this hard to believe, as he’s hardly had a handful of interactions with her. “She’s older-sister-worried, you know how it goes.” He rolls his eyes. “Just ‘cause I’ve never left the state doesn’t mean I can’t handle myself.”

“I’d say that’s fair enough reason for fretfulness,” Pat says, still in the light unserious tone. He finds his charger and plugs it in.

“I mean, maybe. She could stand to give me the benefit of the doubt, though. I know what I’m doing,” Brian says.

“Oh? What are you doing, then?” Pat says, grinning at him, as he sits down on the bed.

“Uh, same as always, Pat Gill: being a foolhardy dumbass and loving it! Some of us could stand to be a bit less restrained, you know,” Brian says, poking Pat in the arm for good measure.

“I brought you to New York City with me, that’s plenty. You can take care of the spontaneity for me for the rest of the trip, thanks,” Pat says, sliding under the covers, putting his head down on the pillow. Brian mirrors him, so they are facing each other. Pat’s heart races, despite himself.

“Don’t worry, I think I’ve got that on lock,” Brian says, and winks at him.

 

Pat is too sleepy to stay up and flirt any more — tragically — and once his heart rate’s returned to normal, he falls asleep quickly.

He wakes up to grayish morning light through the window. The sky is cloudy, and Brian is still asleep as Pat sits up. It must be early, still, because he can’t hear Legs and Thomas, and it’s quiet in the apartment. Well, quiet as it gets in the city. There’s the sounds of traffic, of sirens, distant, stories below. There’s the sound of Brian breathing, a little wheezy. There’s the sound of Pat’s feet on the floor as he stands, goes to the kitchen to track down some coffee.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee machine to do its thing, scrolling absentmindedly through Twitter, when he hears footsteps approaching. Legs appears, moments later, and wiggles her fingers in a wave at Pat.

She swipes the mug, now full of coffee, right before Pat can grab it. “Thanks!” she says — quietly, so as not to wake Brian in the next room.

“Fuck you,” Pat says, amicably, and she laughs.

 

They take Brian on a whirlwind tour. They go to Times Square, because they have to, legally. It’s loud, and crowded, and overwhelming, and the off-brand Ninja Turtles are there, and Pat falls them the Neetle Teetles and that makes everyone laugh and he feels very vindicated even though he thinks he might have stolen that joke from Griffin, and Brian points out with joy that the sidewalks are glittery.

“Of all the things for you to notice,” Pat says, and Brian just grins at him.

They spend most of the day Central Park-ward, though, which seems a little more Brian’s speed, on account of there actually being, like, grass and water and stuff. He’s never even been to a zoo — Legs and Thomas stare at him like he’s grown a second head, at this admission, until Pat elbows Thomas in the ribs and says, “Some people grew up in the middle of nowhere, don’t be assholes.”

They must’ve come at the right time, because all the animals are alert and curious. A deer walks right up to the edge of its enclosure, followed by a baby deer, to give the four of them a good look.

“Stop it, I can’t handle this,” Pat groans. “It’s too cute. Look at the fuckin’ baby. I can’t feel feelings for more things, what the fuck.”

Brian laughs at him and hooks his arm through Pat’s, hooks his other arm through Thomas’s, who in turn takes Legs’s, and they keep going. Brian stares admiringly at a mountain lion that looks _directly at them_ and gives them a slow blink and yawns, and at a bear that lumbers casually past, and at every other creature in the whole dang place.

After that they steer away from the overtly touristy stuff a bit, for the evening leg of their adventures. They get dinner and Brian talks excitedly about all of the things — _and did you see Pat’s face when the deer came up to us oh my god he was so mad about how cute it was_ — and he’s sitting a little closer to Pat than he maybe needs to. Pat can feel warmth radiating off of him.

“Did you still want to go out tonight, Brian?” Legs says, as they’re getting ready to leave. “And you two as well, I guess, but you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah!” Brian says. Pat and Thomas exchange a brief look and find themselves to be on the same page, just from the looks on their faces. Legs looks at them and raises her eyebrows.

“That a no from you two?” she says, and gets two sheepish nods in reply.

“I mean, Brian, I can come if you want me to —” Pat says, quickly, realizing he might not want to go do things with someone he’s only recently met.

“No, it’s totally fine! For real, Pat, don’t make that face. If you’re going to sit in the corner and sulk all night you should just do that at home,” Brian says. Which, fair enough. Pat gives him an appreciative smile.

“I’m gonna text Jeff and see if he wants to come,” Legs declares. “If that’s alright with you, Brian? He’s cool, we work together.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Brian says. “I trust you.”

Legs smiles and pulls out her phone.

 

They part ways after that; Thomas and Pat head back to the apartment, while Legs and Brian go to meet up with Jeff and whoever else they’ve corralled. Pat glances over his shoulder at them, as they walk away; Brian does a little half-skip to catch up with Legs, his whole body moving with purpose, intent, excitement.

“Pat, you are so obvious,” Thomas says, as they walk.

“Shut up.”

“Not my fault you turn into a personification of the heart eyes emoji whenever you look at him! D’you want to help me catch up on work and play _Cuphead_ with me? Or we could watch a movie, or something?”

“No fuckin’ way am I playing that game, I am not in the mood to yell at video games tonight, thanks. Didn’t we keep saying we were gonna watch _Citizen Kane,_ before I moved?”

“We did! Okay, let’s do that. Legs is gonna be sad she missed it, though, she loves to make fun of and then sleep through entire movies.”

“She’s too busy having a social life, it’s fine,” Pat says, and Thomas laughs. “Next time we can stream it and annoy everyone on Twitch about it.”

 

They make their way through that and the _Shrek_ musical and half a bottle of wine, sprawled out on the bed in the living room, when the door bursts open and Legs and Brian enter. They’re leaning on each other, faces flushed, giggly, and Brian stumbles a half-step when Legs lets him go.

“Looks like you guys had a good time,” Thomas says. He gets up off the bed and meets them in the kitchen, as Pat sits up. There’s a gap between the counter and the cupboards where he can watch the goings-on through without having to move.

“Yeah! Jeff and Karen came, it was super fun,” Legs says. She’s clattering around the kitchen, getting water, intentionally colliding with Thomas to make him laugh, handing a glass to Brian. Brian’s much more subdued, leaning on the counter and watching Legs flit around. “Pat, did you know Brian can dance?”

“I’m not surprised,” Pat says. Brian shoots him a grin. “I think the better question is what _can’t_ he do, honestly. I haven’t found anything yet.”

“You flatter me,” Brian says, a little hoarsely. He makes a face and takes a drink of water. “Ugh. If I lose my voice from shouting over music I’m gonna be so annoyed.”

“Gotta use your diaphragm, duh. Practice responsible vocal health or whatever,” Legs says.

“You’re not my voice teacher,” Brian sniffs, and she laughs.

“I’m gonna go to bed, fuck, I am so tired,” she declares, and just as abruptly as she’d arrived, she disappears down the hall. Thomas shrugs and trails after her a few moments later, with the requisite good nights to Brian and Pat.

Brian leans forward, listening for the appropriate doors to close, and stage-whispers to Pat: “Do you think they’re sleeping together?”

“Oh my _god,”_ Pat says. Drags a hand over his face. “That is so far from my business that if they told me as much I would probably immediately make myself forget.”

Brian giggles. “That doesn’t make sense, Pat.”

“You don’t make sense,” Pat says, feigning gruffness, but he can’t keep a smile off his face. Brian grins back and makes his way over to the bed, sits down on the edge of it. Then stands back up, swaying on his feet a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Super tired. Kinda drunk,” he adds, with that familiar half-smile. “Or maybe those modifiers should be reversed. I’m gonna change. Might shower? Don’t wait up.”

“Hah. Okay,” Pat says, knowing that he will anyway. Brian goes out of sight, into the hallway, and then there are the sounds of his and Allegra’s voices, sounding like they’d nearly collided with each other, both of them laughing, and then a door closes and it’s quiet again.

Pat is lying on his back in the dimly-lit living room, staring at the ceiling, pondering the idea of going to sleep, when he hears Brian returning down the hall. Pat glances at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His hair is damp, falling in his face, and he seems lost in thought. Pensive. Pat watches him bend down to put his clothes in his bag, lose his balance and fall on his ass with a rush of an exhale that turns into a cough from deep in his chest.

“Whoa, dude, are you okay?” Pat says, immediately bolting upright into a sitting position, as Brian struggles to catch his breath.

Brian gives a thumbs-up as his breathing steadies. “Yep! Just fine!” he gets out, with clear effort. “Probably just, like, irritated from city air and dancing around and whatever. I don’t recommend developing asthma, Pat Gill,” Brian says, as he gets into bed, stretches his arms over his head, folds them down so his forearms rest on top of his head, holding the opposite elbows.

“Do you have an inhaler or something?” Pat says, concerned.

“I forgot it at home. I’ll be fine, seriously, Pat, don’t look at me like that. I just gotta chill and get some rest. I’ll be okay in the morning.”

“Okay,” says Pat, still worried.

Brian sticks his tongue out at him. “If you keep making that face you’re going to get wrinkles in your forehead and it’s going to be entirely your own darn fault. Seriously. It’s normal, it happens sometimes! It is nothing to fret about.”

Well. He certainly can’t be feeling that bad if he’s making fun of Pat, he supposes. “Alright, alright, okay, worrying canceled, you’ve convinced me. I’m going to sleep. ‘Night, Brian.”

“Good night, Pat!” Brian says, and with that cheerful but perfunctory statement, he lays down and closes his eyes. Pat copies him, but keeps his back to him — too shy to face him tonight — and listens to the distant sound of cars, the much closer sound of Brian’s breathing, until he finally falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [projects on brian] yesterday i went outside to light sparklers w my family and couldnt be outside for more than a half hour bc the smoke triggered a real nasty asthma attack. thanks, everyone setting off fireworks
> 
> i always think its really funny when people write unraveled as being a polygon universal constant as opposed to being intrinsically linked to brian (bc, cmon, it super is). i swear someone wrote pat hosting it in a fic and. luv that. so thomas gets it, in this au. but brian's still Like That, Regardless


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH SHIT DUDES HERE WE GO!!!!!  
> content warning for illness in this chapter
> 
> also this is kinda fun, chapter 7 being uploaded on 7/7, love me some fun number coincidences.

Brian has a persistent cough, the next day, but he waves off Pat’s fussing about it.

“I told you not to worry about it! Jeepers, you’re as bad as Laura. Allegra, tell Pat to get off my back,” Brian says, as Legs walks into the living room.

“Pat, get off Brian’s back,” she says dutifully. “What are you bickering about?”

“Asthma’s acting up and I left my inhaler at home. Which is _not_ a big deal, you guys, seriously. Everyone makes such worried faces whenever I mention it but it’s so mild, honestly, I’ve just got a little cough,” Brian says, stubbornly.

“Yeah, Pat, he’s fine, happens to my sister all the time,” Legs says, and continues on her path to the kitchen.

“You have a sister?” Brian says.

“Yep! We’re twins. She’s Arms Frank,” Legs quips, and Brian laughs. It’s a little wheezy, but doesn’t break off into coughing. Pat doesn’t need to worry. But he’s a worrier, that’s how he is. “You have any siblings?”

“I have two. I’m the baby. My sister’s name is Laura, and my brother’s — uh — his name’s Patrick,” Brian says, with a sideways look at Pat.

“It is not!” Pat says, disbelieving. “Are you seriously telling me our last names are that similar _and_ you have a brother with my name?”

“Yep,” Brian says. He’s blushing, at the tips of his ears.

“How did you not know that, Pat?” Legs says, coming back from the kitchen and nudging Pat out of the way, closer to Brian, so she can sit on the end of the folded-out couch-bed with them.

“Haven’t met him,” Pat says.

“He’s, like, a bunch older than me, he lives a little ways away now. He’s a lawyer,” Brian adds, proudly. “He visits a lot though. I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually. He acts all serious all the time, but he’s actually very silly.” He glances at Pat. “Maybe that’s a Patrick trait, now that I think of it. Does it come with the name?”

Pat huffs an exaggeratedly exasperated sigh at Brian’s teasing smile.

“You’re literally proving his point right now,” Legs says, and Pat turns his frown on her before he can’t hold it anymore and it turns back into a smile. God, it’s so fucking nice to be with them. “If Thomas ever gets up, we can go on an adventure. The Brooklyn Bridge is super pretty, I was thinking we could take a walk across it? If you’re up for it, Brian.”

“Of course I am up for it!” Brian says. He hops to his feet. “I’m gonna, like, put on person clothes and stuff. Someone kick Thomas out of bed before he sleeps the whole day away. Pat does the same thing and it is terrible!”

“Put me on blast, okay,” Pat says, as Brian walks away. Brian flashes a grin at him over his shoulder. Legs raises her eyebrows at him. “Yeah, okay, I sleep ‘till afternoon most days, I don’t know what you want from me. I’m as functional as I can be, right now.”

“Fair enough,” she says, and stands as well. “I’m gonna go wake up Thomas and tell him to stop being such a lazy butt.”

“Godspeed,” Pat says, and she laughs as she goes off down the hallway too.

 

It’s cloudy again, and feels like it might rain — it must have done so overnight, for sure, because it’s incredibly humid. Pat’s sweating before he walks ten steps. Brian is wearing jean shorts that should _not_ look good except his ass looks great in them so Pat will refrain from commenting on his fashion choices. And also, possibly, should refrain from looking at his ass.

Once they actually make it to their destination, Legs pulls them all off to the side and shoves them all together so she can get a selfie for Instagram, and also Twitter, and also Snapchat, and then everyone has to exchange their social media and it becomes even more of a whole production.

Brian’s quieter than usual, but he’s looking around intently, dark eyes wide and curious, like he’s trying to soak everything in. Legs keeps the conversation rolling, instead, telling stories from work and whatever else.

The more they walk, the quieter Brian seems. Pat keeps glancing at him and not getting a look back; Brian’s staring hard at the horizon. Pat keeps his pace steady with Brian’s, and Legs and Thomas keep having to double back, because they keep falling behind.

It takes Pat far too long to notice that Brian’s struggling to catch his breath.

They stop at the far end of the bridge, step off to the side to discuss what they’re going to do next, and Brian grabs at Pat’s shoulder as he doubles over, gasping for air, which turns into a coughing fit, rough and hacking, that goes on for so long and sounds so bad that people walking past turn to look at him with concern.

“Are you okay? Oh my god?” says Legs, but Brian can’t answer, having to use all his lung capacity trying to breathe. _Fuck._

Pat, cautious, gentle, puts his arm around Brian’s waist, as it finally subsides, and Brian leans against Pat. He’s shaking, a little, and kind of panting. His eyes are watering. Brian looks up at Pat, opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then closes it again.

“Maybe a little more than nothing to worry about?” Pat says lightly.

“Don’t you ‘told you so’ at me,” Brian says, his voice rough. He sounds awful. It’s impossible to tell if he’s actually angry.

“I think we should get a cab back to the apartment,” Thomas says.

“No — I’m not gonna ruin the day,” Brian starts, and then breaks off again. It’s less aggressive, this time, but he leans more heavily against Pat to catch his breath, after.

“We’re going back,” Pat says. Brian looks mutinous, looks like he wants to argue, but Pat stares him down and he doesn’t say a word.

 

They get him back to the apartment and Pat wheedles him into laying down, resting, please Brian just do it for me?

This, apparently, is the way to convince him. Pat tries not to read into it too much, nor the way that Brian reaches for Pat when he stands up to get something, and gets this genuinely sad-anxious look on his face until Pat comes back and sits down next to him again. Legs turns on the TV to something unobtrusive and uninteresting, probably only for the sound, and takes up residence in the chair in the far corner of the room, ostensibly doing something on her phone. Pat sees her watching them, though, keeping an eye out. Thomas is not much farther away, sitting at the kitchen table in lieu of available spaces in the living room.

“Stop making that face, Pat Gill,” Brian says. His voice is hoarse, and he looks pale.

“I will not, thanks, you’re making me worried.”

“Well, stop that!” This is made less reassuring by him curling in on himself with the force of another coughing fit. They aren’t subsiding, now that he’s still. Pat is worried they might be getting worse, actually. When he calms, Brian’s hands go to something around his neck, fidgety, like he’s seeking comfort in something familiar; there’s a thin gold chain of a necklace that Pat hasn’t noticed before. It’s very subtle, very delicate-looking.

“What’s that?” Pat says.

“Oh,” Brian says. Clears his throat, in an attempt to dispel some of the raspiness in his voice. “I’ve had this for, like, forever,” he says, pulling the pendant out from beneath his shirt. It’s a tiny acorn, a real one as far as Pat can tell, wrapped in delicate wirework. Pat leans forward to examine it.

“It’s beautiful,” Pat says quietly.

“Thank you,” Brian says. He wraps his hand around the pendant, holds it close to his chest. He closes his eyes.

“How are you doing?”

Brian sighs, gets another bout of coughing for his trouble. God, it’s so bad, it’s the sort that sounds like it’s all the way down from the bottom of his lungs, like, _resonant,_ in a really scary way. He shifts, restlessly, like he’s uncomfortable. Which, to be fair, he probably is. “Pat, can I be honest?”

“‘Course.”

“I do not feel good.”

Pat laughs, a little, at this, at the clear understatement, but there’s no real humor in it. Brian gives him a smile that’s tinged with anxiety. Pat, cautiously, pats him on the arm. “Can I get anything for you?”

“Dunno. I —” His breath catches. “Oh, Christ,” he grits out, before he’s subjected to the whims of his lungs again, his body jackknifing in on itself, bending at the waist, curling up on his side. This one’s the worst, so far, by a long shot, and it _lasts._ Pat catches Legs’s eyes from across the room; she’s half-standing already, ready to do — something, he’s not sure what. Not sure if she is, either.

Pat scoots closer to him and carefully moves Brian’s hair out of his face. God, he sounds awful, with those rattling coughs, with him fighting for air between them. He’s warm to the touch, where Pat’s fingers brush across his temples, and sweaty.

He collapses against the mattress, finally, the tension in his body falling out of him all at once. There’s tear-tracks down his cheeks, but he doesn’t seem to be actively crying; probably it’s more from the force of battling with his body.

“Brian,” Legs says. She’s standing nearby now. “Do we need to, like, take you to the hospital or something? This came on really fast, and it sounds really freaking bad —”

“No!” Brian says, quickly, sort of wheezing on it. It’s kind of an awful sound, for a set of lungs to make. “No, it’s — I’m — no.”

“Uh, are you sure?” Pat says.

“I don’t have insurance in New York,” Brian says.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works?” Pat says, doubtfully, although he has not admittedly looked very deeply into this. Brian closes his eyes, as though that’d shut Pat out.

“I’m not going to a hospital,” Brian says, stubborn. “I’m totally fine.”

This is immediately and aggressively disproven by the next coughing fit. By the end of it, he’s gasping the harsh, open-mouthed breaths of someone truly exhausted. He’s not even shaky, anymore. He’s sort of ragdolled onto the bed. He’s turned towards Pat, now, and he curls against Pat’s side like a parenthesis. Pat reaches out, because he can’t not, to gently rub Brian’s back. He’s drenched in sweat and far too hot to the touch.

“Legs,” Pat starts, worriedly.

“Don’t,” Brian says. His voice is raw. “You need to take me back to Maine.”

“What?” is Pat and Legs’s synchronized response.

“You’re not taking me to a hospital. You _can’t.”_ A pause, while he catches his breath. “We have to go back home. I have to — the air here’s —no, fuck, it’s just — I have to go _back.”_

Pat and Legs exchange a perplexed look.

“I, um. Brian. I respect you very much, as a person, and care about you, and your needs, but I think this is — uh. Not some kind of air quality thing. Like. They haven’t recommended fresh air as a remedy for illness since, like, the 1800s,” Pat says.

“Well, you’re just gonna have to trust me, ‘cause that’s what I need,” Brian says, quietly, effortful.

“What is this alternative medicine bullshit?” Legs mutters.

Pat thinks it is sarcasm, but he can’t quite tell, when Brian responds in something of a whisper, “I have to go out _summering_ in the _countryside_ for my _ailments.”_

He can’t tell, because then Brian goes limp against him.

Pat says a lot of very bad words in rapid, frantic succession, as Legs looks between Brian and Pat, wide-eyed. Thomas rushes into the room at the commotion.

“Where’s his phone — fuck,” Pat says, and then sees the shape of it in Brian’s back pocket. He doesn’t even think until after he’s snatched it out of his jeans about how he may have just kind of touched Brian’s ass but, this is _not the time or place._

He’s seen Brian put in his passcode tons of times, and he guesses right on the first try. He searches through the contacts, until he comes across _Laura Kathryn Gilbert_ and hits the _call_ button with shaking hands.

“Brian?”

“It’s Pat. Brian is — he’s — he’s really sick.”

_“Fuck._ I told him! I told that mother _fucker_ —”

“What’s going on?” Pat says, his chest seizing with anxiety. “He told me — he told us not to take him to the hospital. To bring him back home. What’s — what’s happening?”

“Oh, I hate him!” Laura says, her voice high and laced with stress. “This is exactly why he’s not supposed to — god damn it!”

“What is?” Pat says, increasingly frantic. “Laura, he just — like — passed out, collapsed or something, I don’t know —”

She makes a frustrated sound. “He’s so stupid! He didn’t tell you anything, did he!”

“What’s there to tell?”

Laura takes a sharp breath, and then speaks rapidfire.

“We’re dryads and he left his _fucking tree at home!_ Because it’s not like you can take an entire oak tree to New York City! I’m going to murder him when he gets back, he is so fucking stupid, he wanted to go with you because he likes you and I would have told him not to go because he can’t! He can’t be far from his tree or else he will _die!”_ She sounds like she’s on the verge of tears.

“Oh my god,” Pat breathes.

“And I can’t come get him or the same thing will happen to me! So you better bring his dumb ass home so I can yell at him for being _awful!_ God!”

“Okay,” Pat says. His voice is shaky. “Okay. Fuck. I. Yeah. I’m gonna — I’m gonna get our stuff and — and we’ll go. Right now. Will he be okay for that long?”

“He fucking _better_ be,” Laura snaps. Then she sighs. “I’m sorry, Pat, I’m not yelling at you, this isn’t your fault. I’m — he’s such an _idiot_ sometimes, putting himself in danger like this just to impress — god. Please call me if he gets worse. He should start to improve the closer he gets. I think. I hope. He told me he brought that acorn necklace, please tell me he’s got that at least.”

“Yeah, he does. What’s that do?”

“It’s from his tree. It’s supposed to keep him — well — not to be too on-the-nose, but rooted, I guess. We wear them when we have to be away for a while, or go farther than usual. Ugh! I can’t believe him! Two _weeks,_ he said? God. I’m so sorry to fuck up your vacation.”

“It’s not your fault,” Pat says. “I, um. I should get our things together and get going, I think.”

“Fuck. Yeah. Okay, yeah. I’ll see you — what — three, four hours?”

“Something like that. See you soon. Bye, Laura.”

“Bye. Thank you, Pat.”

The call ends, and Pat looks up at Legs and Thomas with anxious eyes.

 

Legs tries valiantly to break the tension. “Your boyfriend’s not dying, right?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Pat says, his voice tight.

“Okay, is your mutual crush where both of you need to get your shit together and tell teach other about dying?”

“Don’t make jokes like that,” Pat says. His voice wavers. Fuck. “He might be.”

Legs looks like someone’s punched her in the gut. He feels bad about that. “Uh. That’s. That’s really bad?”

“Yep!” Pat says, a little hysterical. He gets to his feet, careful not to disturb Brian. He double-checks that he’s breathing; he is, but it’s shallow and rattly. He kneels to start shoving his things into his bag. “Can you get our stuff from the bathroom? We need to go now.”

“To the hospital?” says Thomas, already rushing out of the room.

“No. We.” Pat sighs. “We have to go back to Maine.”

“What the fuck?” says Legs.

Thomas reappears, brandishing two palmfuls of their toiletries, which Pat shoves indiscriminately in his own bag. “Can’t you just do your bird thing and fly him there?” he says.

“No, I can’t carry — wait what the _fuck,_ how did — _how did you know about that?!”_

“Thomas, oh my god, we were gonna ease him into that!” Legs says.

“I’m sorry, I just think it’s ridiculous that we keep dancing around this!” Thomas says indignantly. Pat is frozen in place, staring between them.

“How did you,” Pat starts, his voice strangled. “How did you know?”

“You let me spend the night at your apartment once, and I think you thought I was still asleep — keep packing your things, dude, if we gotta go we gotta go — and I went to go, like, see if you were awake, and I saw bird-you fly out the window. It wasn’t a hard deduction to make. You were gone, bird flew out the window that was left the perfect amount of open. My stepmom’s a witch, I know a little bit about it,” Thomas says.

“Jesus Christ,” Pat swears. “And you were pretending you didn’t know… why?”

“Frankly, Pat, I think there were enough secrets there that we were worried if we touched one, we’d set off a whole mess of a chain reaction. Didn’t want everything falling down around our ears,” Legs says. Pat winces, because she’s not wrong, and that kind of sucks. She’s on the other side of the bed, stuffing Brian’s scattered clothes into his bag. “Thomas, can you —?”

“Shit, yeah. Give me like two seconds,” Thomas says, and bolts out of the room. Pat shoots Legs a questioning look.

“What, you think we’re not coming with you? We took time off work for you binches. Plus then you can sit in the back with Brian and keep an eye on him.”

“Oh,” says Pat. “I. Well then. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Legs says.

“‘Legra, where’s your fuckin’ — oh, never mind, found it!” Thomas shouts from down the hall.

“Don’t forget deodorant! Or your meds! Or underwear!”

“I got all those, don’t worry! Sorry if my fashion choices suck, I just grabbed whatever I saw, you can steal Pat’s shirts while we’re there if it’s bad,” Thomas says, his voice getting louder as he returns to the living room. “Got everything?”

“Yeah. Pat, give me your bag, you help Brian, okay?” Legs says.

So Pat goes around to the other side of the bed and gently nudges Brian until he can get an arm under him, to lift him into a sitting position. Brian makes a little _whhuh?_ sound, and blinks blearily at Pat, but doesn’t get much more cognizant than that. So walking’s probably out of the picture, then.

Pat picks him up, bridal-style, and Brian’s arms instinctively wrap around Pat and he nestles his face against Pat’s shoulder. He’s not all that heavy, actually. He’s warm, though, still far too warm, and the back of his shirt is kind of damp, and his labored breathing is incredibly worrisome, and his face is so pale.

They attract some strange looks on the way to Pat’s car, but Pat ignores them as hard as he possibly can. Thomas fishes Pat’s keys out of his backpack and unlocks the car, and Pat settles Brian inside, carefully. Brian makes a ragged, sad little sound when Pat’s arms leave him, and it makes Pat move more quickly to get him situated, so he can get beside him. He adjusts the back of the seat so Brian can be closer to lying down, and Pat makes the executive decision to cram himself and his long legs into the middle seat so Brian can lean on him if he wants to.

The four of them get situated quickly enough. Legs confesses to not being able to drive, either, having grown up in the city, so the task is left fully to Thomas. Who assures Pat that yes, he can drive, yes, he’s good at it, no, he’s never gotten a ticket, calm down, he’s not gonna wreck Pat’s car.

Brian’s head lolls against Pat’s shoulder and it makes something inside Pat twist with sick anxiety.

Pat borrows Brian’s phone again to get Laura’s number out of it, so that he doesn’t have to keep hacking into Brian’s shit, and texts her from his own phone.

3:03 PM | Patrick Gill  
Hey it’s Pat  
We’re on our way, Thomas and Legs are coming w/us  
(Thomas is driving I’m not texting and driving jsyk)

3:04 PM | Laura Gilbert  
Ok good. How is he?

3:04 PM | Patrick Gill  
I had to carry him out to the car. He’s asleep. He doesn’t look great tbh but he’s stable?

3:05 PM | Laura Gilbert  
Good 2 know. I’m gonna get stuff ready 4 him  
The best place 2 meet is prob just south of Ashley’s, I’ll wait for u guys at the edge of the forest from there. It’s not too far a walk & hopefully he’ll be a little better by then  
Text me if things get any worse. Otherwise I’ll see u then. Drive safe

3:09 PM | Patrick Gill  
Sounds good. See you soon

 

Legs turns on some music, but it’s still too quiet in the car. Pat can still hear the way Brian has to fight for each breath. He’s not sure at what point he took Brian’s hand, at what point he held it in both of his, or if Brian might’ve even done it semi-consciously, but he sure is holding his hand now. He strokes his thumb over the smooth skin of his inner wrist. He can feel his pulse, too fast, fluttery, faint. He feels almost sick with anxiety.

But he’s still breathing. That’s the important part. He’s still breathing. Every once in a while, he tries to cough, but it’s — it’s sad, to watch, because his chest heaves and his muscles tense but he has no energy, no strength, to accomplish anything other than harsh, wheezing breaths.

Legs keeps shooting worried looks at them. Thomas does too, more subtly, glancing in the rearview mirror. Pat keeps a finger on Brian’s pulse and — selfishly, indulgently — pushes his face into Brian’s hair. It’s exactly as soft as he thought it would be.

God.

He’s hit, hard, right between the ribs, with the knowledge that he cares desperately for this man. That he doesn’t want him to — fuck. Rephrase. That he wants him to be okay.

He stays there, still, listening to Brian breathe. He’s not sure how long they sit like this, but it’s at least half an album’s length.

But then Brian stirs and Pat jerks his head back, as though he’s been burned.

“Y’can stay,” Brian slurs out, his voice barely more than a whisper. Legs whips around at the sound of his voice, wide-eyed, but then must see something on Pat’s face, because she immediately turns back away.

So Pat rests his head against Brian’s. Brian’s hair brushes against his cheek. “How are you feeling?” Pat whispers, quiet, afraid of breaking — something — the moment, probably.

“Bad,” Brian admits. “Did’ja message Laura?” His brow furrows. “You must’ve, prob’ly.” It sounds like it hurts him to talk, like he’s trying to say as few syllables as possible, avoiding hitting the velar consonants too hard ‘cause those really grate on a raw throat.

“I called her, when you, like, passed out. You scared the shit out of me, man. She, uh.” Pat pauses, not sure how to phrase this.

“She told you?”

Pat nods. Pushes his face against Brian’s hair again. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m a witch anyway.”

“We all know that,” Brian says.

“What? Fuck, does the whole world know?”

“First night. You went ‘round in front of ev’ryone as a bird. Not sneaky.” Brian curls himself towards Pat, and takes his free hand — the one not being held by Pat — and slings it loosely around Pat’s midsection. Pat blinks, but he’s too distracted by this news.

“Griffin said he didn’t tell anyone —”

“Didn’t have to. We knew.” Brian snuggles against Pat until Pat, bewildered, amazed, puts an arm around his shoulders. “‘S nice. Your magic’s nice. You’re nice.”

Pat opens his mouth to say something — what? — but nothing comes out. He catches Legs’s eye in the rearview mirror; she is positively smirking. He narrows his eyes at her, and she winks at him before he looks away. Back at Brian. Who appears to have fallen asleep again, tucked up against Pat’s side, a brand of fire against him.

Brian wakes up twice more, along the journey. The first time he wakes himself up coughing, and looks miserable about it. Pat gets him to drink some water, and he makes an awful pained face when he swallows, before immediately pressing back up against Pat to drift off to sleep again.

The second time is well after they’ve crossed the state border into Maine. Pat’s still on high alert — god, he’s gonna crash so fuckin’ hard after this — but he’s noticed that Brian has relaxed somewhat, that he’s breathing easier, that it doesn’t sound so strained. His pulse isn’t so alarmingly birdlike. He’s not so feverish.

He won’t allow himself to relax until he’s awake and upright and can tell Pat flat-out that he’s fine, but Pat thinks that they’re out of the woods.

Well. Hah. That’s definitely not the right turn of phrase.

“We’re almost back?” Brian says, as Pat is spacing out contemplating idioms, and makes Pat startle in surprise, which Brian can certainly feel, since he’s right up against him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He’s still speaking delicately, like his throat hurts — because of course it does, anyone’s would after hacking up a lung like that — but his eyes are bright, alert.

“We’re like a half-hour away. Maybe less,” Thomas says. “How are you holding up back there?”

“Alright,” Brian says. “Better than before. Just hurts, mostly.”

“What does?” Pat says, unable to keep from fussing.

“Everything, kinda. Chest, throat, ugh, all of me. Tell Laura we’re close?” Brian says to Pat, putting his chin on Pat’s shoulder. It sort of digs in, but Pat can’t find it in himself to care.

6:22 PM | Patrick Gill  
We’re abt a half hour away. Brian’s awake

6:22 PM | Laura Gilbert  
Good  
Tell him he’s an asshole

Pat glances at Brian.

6:23 PM | Patrick Gill  
He stuck his tongue out at you

6:23 PM | Laura Gilbert  
Brian ur petty revenge will NOT save you from my lecture so help me god  
I’ll b there when you get there. Noone’s gonna care if u park in the street cause theres not enough ppl to give a shit lmao

 

Brian’s not chatty — understandably — but he is fidgety. He takes Pat’s hand in both of his, resting them on Pat’s thigh. He traces over the creases in Pat’s palm, like a particularly coquettish palm reader, runs his fingertips over the inside of Pat’s fingers, endlessly explorative. Pat shivers, a little, at the feeling. He’s not sure if he’s starved for touch or what, but the attention thrums through his nervous system. It’s so nice? It’s so nice.

Pat directs Thomas where to go — “And then, yeah, right over there where the lady is standing. Yep, that’s Laura.”

“Oh, she looks like she is having some big ol’ feelings,” Thomas says.

“Good luck, Brian,” Legs chips in.

“Do you want us to take the car to your house? I assume you have alternative means of transportation,” Thomas says. “Given that I’ve seen you fly.”

“Yeah, sure, what the hell, why not. Not gonna make you guys sit here anyway. You’ve got my address, right?” Thomas nods. “Okay. House key’s — well, the only other key on there, ha. C’mon, Brian, let’s get you going.”

Brian opens the door and Laura is immediately there, before Brian even so much as unbuckles the seatbelt. She casts a wary look at Thomas and Legs — fair enough, she’s not sure how much they know, and come to think of it, neither is Pat — and seems to be forcibly holding her tongue. Brian carefully gets out of the car, shaky-legged like a baby deer, and Pat scoots out after him.

“Thank you guys. Really. So much,” he says, to Legs and Thomas.

“Of course, you nerd. Go on, take care of your man,” Legs says. She winks at him, and Pat doesn’t even have the heart to correct her before he hops out of the car after Brian and shuts the door. They drive off, and Pat turns to Laura and Brian.

Laura wraps her brother in a fierce bear hug. She’s solidly half a head shorter than him, but from the look of her biceps, she could probably pick him up and carry him away with less effort than Pat had, earlier.

“You stupid motherfucker,” Laura says, with such affection and warmth. “I am so goddamn mad at you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Brian sighs. “Please let me go to my tree before you yell at me, I feel like garbage.”

“Uh, yeah you do! Come on,” she says, stepping back but keeping an arm around his waist so he can lean on her. “You too, Pat. Ugh! Brian, see what you’ve done, you’ve made poor Pat Gill an unwilling and unwitting accomplice! What would he have done if you had —”

“Look, that’s not the point, okay? I’m back,” Brian says, cutting her off before she can finish that sentence, with a nervous glance at Pat.

“You could’ve gone for just a day, that would’ve been fine!” Laura says, gesticulating widely with her free hand. “I can’t believe you planned for two _weeks._ You could’ve canceled, Pat wouldn’t have even been mad. Right, Pat?”

“I wouldn’t have,” Pat agrees, meekly.

“I don’t think he’s physically capable of getting mad at you for anything, look at him! You’re giving this poor man gray hairs prematurely.”

“That’s from a spell that went wrong, don’t be mean,” Pat says, petulantly, self-conscious of the white patch in his beard.

“Shush, I am making a point!”

“I just wanted to go so badly,” Brian says, and he sounds so genuinely mournful that it shuts Laura and Pat both entirely up for a long moment. “It’s not fair that I can’t leave. I want to travel. I wanted to meet Allegra and Thomas and I wanted to spend time with Pat and it’s not _fair.”_ And then, oh god, he sniffles, and wipes at his eyes.

“Yeah,” Laura says, softly. “It’s hard, to be a dryad who wants to see the world. There’s a lot of great things about being a tree. But that’s… yeah. That’s one of the hardest. Pat — I mean, our Pat, our brother, not you — he did the same thing. But he turned around and came back once he started to feel sick. He was farther away, though, I thought maybe you might be okay? It scared me so bad that that could happen so fast, so I never tried it. But.” Laura sighs. “Was it worth it?”

Brian bites his lip. Looks at Pat. Looks at Laura. Looks at the massive grove of trees they’re walking into. Looks like he’s thinking, hard, really weighing it. Pat wonders what he’s thinking about. The big loud smelly city? The zoo? Times Square? Dancing with Legs? The glittery sidewalks?

“It was,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “It really was.”

“I’m glad,” she says back. She squeezes him close to her, before letting him go. “You need a hand?”

“I got it from here, thanks,” Brian says.

Pat and Laura stand still and watch as Brian approaches a tree. Pat’s not — he wouldn’t call himself an expert on plants; he can get by, with his witchy history. But he’s not spent a ton of time with trees. His sister would know, probably, but Pat’s only certain that it’s an oak, and that’s really only because of Brian’s acorn necklace.

Brian places his palm on the trunk of the tree and closes his eyes. Pat watches him take a deep breath and sigh it out, slowly. And then, in a shimmery moment that lasts hardly a blink of an eye, Brian has disappeared. Pat blinks, hard, and looks between where Brian was, and the tree, and Laura.

“Do you think it would be mean for me to stomp on his roots?” Laura says, pensively. She approaches the tree and raps her knuckles against the trunk. “Mom is gonna be _so_ mad at you. Oh, I love it when you’re a tree and I’m not, you can’t talk back!”

She has a bag slung over her shoulder, and Pat watches her rummage through it. She produces a jar of some sort of liquid; it’s green and opaque and sparkles a little. She dumps it out unceremoniously at the base of Brian’s tree.

“What’s that?” Pat says.

“Janet’s specialty brew. It’s for those of us who may have, possibly, perhaps, wandered off too far for too long and almost severed their bonds with their trees. Helps speed the healing. Basically, like, our souls are sort of twined with the trees? We can be apart, for a little while, but not too far. And not for too long. Most of us just, like, come back at night to sleep, but Pat — my brother again, obviously — lives in the next town over and he comes back and spends the whole weekend being a tree. But, uh, it’s healthier to stick close.”

“Tell me if this is rude —”

“Oh, I will, trust me —”

“Thanks,” Pat says, dryly. “But do you guys, like, live as long as the trees?”

Laura studies him, for long enough that he’s sure that she knows exactly his motivations for asking. “We can’t live without each other. Us and our tree, I mean. So if the tree dies, the dryad dies. And if the dryad dies, the tree dies. We definitely have longer lifespans than humans, but we don’t really quantify it that closely? Honestly, once most dryads get older, it’s usually more comfortable to live as a tree full-time. It’s actually really nice to be a tree. The stationary thing’s a little bit of a bummer, yeah, but you can talk to the other trees, so it’s not like you’re alone. Ooh, I wonder if Brian’s getting chewed out right now. I bet he is. I should jump in and find out, but I don’t wanna leave you if you have more questions.”

“Wait, is this like — is this your whole family and stuff, around us?”

“Yep! Mom’s over there, that’s Pat’s tree, that’s our aunt and our cousins, that’s Grandma and Grandpa,” Laura says, spinning around and pointing at each in turn. “Sorry for springing a meet-the-family on you. They probably won’t hop out now, ‘cause I bet they’re talking to Brian. But they definitely know you’re here.”

“Oh, great, I hope I haven’t said anything stupid.”

“You probably have, you’re a guy,” Laura says cheerfully. “If you want to stick around, you can, I think it would be very cute if you hung out with Brian, but I totally understand not wanting to be watched while you can’t see the watchers.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“But you should come back soon! I’ll send Brian your way as soon as he’s able. Not that he won’t come of his own accord the second that he can. Which will probably not be long, because he is a reckless asshole.”

Pat gives her an overwhelmed sort of smile, and she laughs at him.

“You go home and get some rest, you look scared to death.”

“Yeah, wow, it’s not like some really tense shit happened today or anything,” Pat says flatly.

Laura goes a bit gentler, and pats Pat on the arm. “It’s okay. He’s gonna be just fine. And so will you. Go and entertain your guests. I’ll see you soon, alright?”

With that, she turns and steps up to the tree next to Brian’s. It’s a bit smaller, but the branches spread wider. She does the same thing as Brian did, presses her palm to the trunk and disappears in a shimmering moment.

Well. Pat supposes, if they’ve both let him see their transformations.

He takes a couple steps forward and jumps, up, spreading his wings, and flies between Laura’s and Brian’s trees. He caws at Brian’s, and then swoops away, to head back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone i have a confession to make. i misled you. brian doesnt have asthma. he doesnt even own an inhaler. hes a liar and i cant bee leaf him. i apologize for the metatextual misleading
> 
> tbh this is the chapter ive been most excited to post this whole time. i hope you guys like it! let me know what you think! ♥
> 
> one more thing -- if anyone should go back and look at earlier chapters, please feel free to yell at me about the sheer number of puns as foreshadowing i've done. i deserve it


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK GUYS THIS FIC HAS BEEN EFFECTIVELY RATED T UNTIL NOW. BUT NOW IT IS M THERE IS SEX IN THIS CHAPTER
> 
> and also lots of FEELINGS TALK! it's that good stuff babey!

Pat’s journey home is a bit more interesting than he’d like, under the circumstances. He’s distracted — obviously — and in his carelessness he doesn’t notice the creature right in front of him until it yips at him and he almost falls out of the goddamn air in shock, grabbing desperately at a nearby branch with his claws in a sloppy landing.

It almost looks like it’s laughing at him. It sits and tilts its chin up and studies him with dark intelligent eyes that remind him of someone.

Hold the fucking phone.

The black fox swishes her tails and winks at him. She is the exact image of the painting in Ashley’s house.

Pat hops down from the tree to land on his human feet. “Is everyone in this town magic and I just didn’t know it?” Pat says.

The fox bares her teeth in a canine approximation of a grin, and then stands, and then he’s face-to-face with Ashley. “Pretty much!” she says.

“Oh my _god,”_ he says. He counts on his fingers as he lists: “The McElroys are selkies, the Gilberts are dryads, you’re a — uh, what are you?”

“Kumiho,” she says. “I promise I won’t eat you, no matter what the myths say. You’d probably taste terrible, anyway,” she adds, cheerfully. “Too bony.”

“God. What else? Is Jenna a — a fuckin’ werewolf, or something?”

“Actually,” Ashley says, a little sheepishly, “uh, yeah, got it in one.”

Pat makes a wordless sound of distress. “How did I miss all this?”

“Patrick, I hate to admit it to you, but I think you’re a little bit oblivious,” Ashley says, and pats him sympathetically on the arm. “How’s Brian?”

“He’s a tree,” Pat says.

“Yeah, dude, I knew that,” Ashley says, clearly trying not to laugh at him and not doing a great job of it. “I mean, did he seem like he’s gonna be okay? He scared the shit out of Laura.”

“Yeah, I think so. She didn’t seem so worried, once he was back. Mostly upset that he was so reckless.”

“That’s good. I’m gonna swing by there, I think. I’ll see you later, Pat!” she says, and with that, she’s a fox in a heartbeat again. She disappears into the brush, nine long tails waving behind her.

Pat drags his hands over his face and just stands there for a long moment, palms over his eyes, before finally going back birdwise and resuming his journey home.

 

Legs and Thomas are on his couch, mid-conversation, but both of them immediately stop talking and turn towards Pat when he walks through the door.

“I see you had no troubles breaking into my house,” Pat says, with a little half-smile. “Brian’s okay, he’s with Laura.”

“So what magical bullshit is going on with him?” Legs says, scooting closer to Thomas so Pat can sit down next to her. Pat scoffs, thinking he might try to deny it, but she gives him a look that suffers no nonsense.

“He’s a tree,” Pat says.

“What?”

“He’s a tree. Like. A dryad.”

“Shit, that’s a real thing?” Thomas says.

“Apparently! I swear to fucking god every person I know is secretly magic. Wait. You guys aren’t keeping secret magic shit from me, are you? You have to tell me, legally, or it’s entrapment.”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Legs says.

“Just my stepmom, but I told you about that already,” Thomas says.

“God. Okay. Apparently every _fucking_ person in this place is some new kind of magic being that I didn’t even think was real before not all that long ago! I would just like to know how many more times my whole life is going to turn upside-down before I can finally, like, chill the fuck out,” Pat says.

“Probably at least one more time. You still haven’t kissed Brian, have you?” Legs says, slyly.

Pat groans and covers his face with his hands. She laughs, and nudges him with her shoulder.

“You’re gonna be fine, Pat,” Thomas says.

“I wanna go lay down,” Pat says, still hiding behind his hands.

“Okay, go lay down, I promise we won’t snoop around your house too much,” Legs says.

“I don’t believe you,” Pat says, but he’s already standing. “Ah, shit, Griffin might come by to feed Charlie, he probably doesn’t know I’m back. Don’t scare him off.”

“I make no such promises,” Thomas says.

Pat rolls his eyes and leaves them to go take a nap.

 

When he wakes up, he can hear conversation in the living room. He doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s dark in his room, and he thinks it’s been a while, because he’s the confused sort of groggy that happens after a too-long nap. He rubs his eyes and drags his hands through his hair, pushing it out of his face. Gets up and puts some pants on, and goes to see what his houseguests are up to.

Griffin’s in the living room, with Charlie on his lap. He’s talking animatedly — when is he not — to Thomas and Legs, who are both laughing. Griffin looks up, when Pat walks into the room.

“Oh, there he is,” Griffin says, quite happily. “Hey, Patrick.”

“Hey, Griffin. Joining the Legs and Thomas slumber party?” Pat says, lightly bonking him on the shoulder as he walks past. Griffin laughs, leaning away from Pat’s hand dramatically as though he’d actually put any force behind it.

“I might! They’re telling me all about your shenanigans,” Griffin says.

Pat groans. “No, you better not be telling him about any shenanigans, I have to deal with him all the _time,”_ he says to the giggling audience on the couch. “I have never done a shenanigan in my whole life, Griffin, whatever they are telling you is lies and blasphemy.”

“Right, like that time you got drunk and made out with your neighbor?” Griffin says, with a wicked smile, and Legs says _what?!_ and Pat throws his hands up in the air and turns on his heel and walks right back out of the room.

He turns back around again. “We were not that drunk, McElroy!” he shouts at him, from the hallway, and Griffin’s too busy laughing his head off to reply. Pat grouchily walks back into the room and flops down onto a chair. “Asshole,” he mutters.

Legs leans forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her hands, eyebrows raised, smiling. Oh, god, that’s the interrogation pose. “What’s that story, Pat?”

“No, you can’t make me tell you!” Pat protests. Thomas raises his eyebrows. “Come on, I just woke up like two minutes ago, ask Griffin,” he says, pouting. “Since you’re so fond of gossip,” he adds, in Griffin’s direction.

“Can’t help it. There’s nothing else to do,” Griffin says. Charlie jumps off of Griffin’s lap and climbs up onto Pat’s chair, digging his claws into the fabric. Great. He jumps right onto Pat’s stomach, forcing a breath out of him with an _oof._

“Griffin talks for a living and I think that’s the worst decision anyone’s ever made, because he doesn’t ever stop,” Pat grouses, picking Charlie up and settling him in a more comfortable position on his lap.

“You sound like an old married couple,” Thomas says, amused.

“Pat’s just so fun to antagonize,” Griffin says. He grins at Pat’s sulk. “Look at that face!”

“You have to be nice to me, I’ve had a shitty day,” Pat grumbles, pushing his face against Charlie’s fur.

“He’s okay, though, right?” Griffin says.

“Yeah, but like, it sucked,” Pat says, now officially avoiding eye contact with everyone in favor of determinedly petting his cat. “Scared the fuckin’ shit out of me.” He glances up; all three of them are staring at him. “Wow, sorry for killing the mood. Ignore me. I’m just gonna sit here and pet Charlie, keep talking.”

 

He tries to pay attention, he really does, but he ends up mostly only looking up when he hears laughter, and he’s missed the joke, and after he has to ask them to re-explain what was just said twice, he gives up on that much. He wishes he could talk to Brian, somehow, but he doubts that texting and being a tree are compatible.

He’s starting to doze off when someone pokes him right on the nose and says “honk” and he squawks in surprise and jerks fully awake so hard that he startles Charlie, who leaps off his lap and runs away. Legs is standing there, laughing. He glowers at her, but he can’t keep it up for long, and shakes his head with a little huff of a laugh.

“I’m leaving, I’ll see you — uh — whenever I see you. It was nice to meet you guys!” Griffin says. He ruffles Pat’s hair on the way out. Pat makes a face at him, but it breaks into a smile when Griffin makes an even sillier face in response.

“Bye, Griffin,” he says, as he leaves.

“I like him,” Legs says, after the door closes.

“He’s a good one,” Pat agrees.

* * *

Pat knows he should find something to do to entertain Legs and Thomas, that he should be a good host, that he should do something fun for them, or at least not be a depressed lump. But he is fully and entirely prepared to sleep for the entire next day. After such a hurricane of anxiety, it’s like all the energy has been carved right out of him, leaving him hollow and tired. Just tired.

And it’s raining again, the next morning, when he wakes up around nine, and that doesn’t help at all. He pulls the blankets up over his head and goes back to sleep.

 

“Pat!”

_“Aaaugh!_ — what the _f_ — wh — Brian?”

Brian is grinning down at Pat, hazel eyes bright, hair falling in wispy waves around his face. He all but _tackled_ Pat, to wake him up, and he’s above him on all fours now and he’s smiling, smiling so much, bright as the goddamn sun.

“Hi, Pat,” he says, and then flops down next to him.

Pat stares. “I — wh — not that I’m complaining, but — what are you doing here? How are you feeling? What’s going on?”

“I’m doing much better and I have it on good authority that as long as I take it easy for a bit I’m fine and — well.” He looks a little shy, for a moment. “I feel real bad about disrupting your trip.”

“Aw, Brian, no, it’s fine, I’m not upset.”

“I know. I feel bad anyway. Thomas and Allegra went exploring, by the way, Simone came over with me and she took them on an adventure.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. So. Uh.” Brian pauses. He’s blushing. Pat’s heart is racing. “Our city now, I guess?”

Pat opens his mouth. Closes it again. Considers this very carefully.

“I’m going to get up,” Pat says, “and I’m going to brush my teeth, and — and yeah.”

“And yeah?” Brian says, with that mischievous smirk Pat knows so well. “What’s yeah?”

“Get out the way,” Pat says, instead, smiling, nudging Brian out of his path. Brian giggles at him.

“I’ll be here,” Brian says, and appears to mean that literally, because he snuggles back down into Pat’s bed, as comfortably as if it was his own.

Pat grabs the first set of clothes he can get his hands on. He scrambles from the room, to speedrun making himself into a functional person that anyone might want to be close to. He takes the fastest shower known to humankind, because he’s gross and doesn’t want anyone within like fifty feet of him without being clean first, and rushes through everything else, and by the time he makes it back into his bedroom he doesn’t think even twenty minutes have passed, which is maybe a record.

 

Brian looks somewhere between pleased and smug as Pat climbs back onto the bed. He can’t believe this is happening, right now. He’s not even entirely sure what, exactly, is happening, but he has a pretty good guess.

Brian rolls onto his side as Pat settles, so they are facing each other.

“Hey,” says Brian.

“Hey,” says Pat. “How’s it going?”

“Good. Really good. I’m. Thank you, Pat.”

“I don’t know why you’re thanking me.”

“For bringing me back. For not getting mad. For understanding.”

“Of course,” Pat says, softly. “Of course.” His heartbeat is thudding in his ears.

“Pat,” Brian says. Pauses.

“Brian?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Pat’s mouth falls open, stunned for a second, and then he breathes, “Please.”

 

Brian cups Pat’s face in his hand and traces his thumb over his cheek and lets his fingers slide into Pat’s still-wet hair and Pat watches him with wide eyes before he finally realizes that he can touch him back. He puts his hand on Brian’s waist, lightly. His shirt is so soft. He is solid and warm under Pat’s touch.

Apparently this is the encouragement Brian needed, because then he closes the distance between them and his eyes close and their lips touch and Pat’s eyes close too. The first kiss is the gentlest brush of lips, almost tentative, but the second immediately follows, braver, more certain. Pat’s head spins at the contact.

Brian keeps kissing him, and Pat keeps kissing him back, and Brian shifts so he’s pressed against Pat and slings his leg over Pat’s and Pat lets his lips part to deepen the kiss and Brian eagerly responds. He feels like his entire body’s been set alight, like everywhere Brian’s touching him is the most important thing in the whole world.

Brian gets Pat on his back, presses against him ‘till he rolls over and Brian can climb on top of him. He has the distant thought that his hair is going to be a disaster when it dries, but cannot bring himself to care even slightly, because Brian nips at his lip and they’re touching _everywhere,_ the weight of his body pressing down against him, so alive, so present, so wonderful.

Brian lowers his head to press soft, sweet kisses to Pat’s jaw, his neck. “Pat Gill, you are _so_ lovely.”

Pat slides his fingers into Brian’s hair and sighs, tilting his head back so Brian can kiss him better. The tingly heat of arousal is already starting to build inside him, even from this much. He didn’t know — he didn’t think ahead enough to know — just how much he was going to want him, but now he’s pinned beneath him with his mouth on his throat and he wants, he wants him so _badly._

“You ‘kay?” Brian asks, quietly, his lips brushing against Pat’s skin with the words.

“Yes,” Pat says, stuttering on it, and Brian laughs. He finds Pat’s hand, squeezes it.

“Feels good?”

“Yeah. Really good,” Pat says, kind of breathless.

“Man,” Brian says, “I can make you feel so much better than this. If you want me to.”

“I really, really want you to,” Pat says, barely more than a whisper. Brian smiles, and tucks Pat’s hair behind his ear, and kisses his temple. “I like you so _much.”_

“I like _you,”_ Brian says, all warmth and affection, that sweet smile. “A whole lot. I want to be your boyfriend?” It’s a statement and a question simultaneously.

“That’s good,” Pat says, and then realizes he sounds like a dumbass, and keeps talking quickly. “‘Cause I want the same. So. I mean. Yes. Absolutely. Of course. Please be my boyfriend, so I can be yours, too.”

Brian beams and kisses him, all teeth at first, too busy smiling, but then he shifts around to change his position and in the process drags his crotch against Pat’s and Pat can’t help the quiet choked whine that escapes him at that.

“Fuck,” Brian says against Pat’s mouth. He pushes his hands into Pat’s hair, his thumbs on Pat’s jaw, holding him where he wants him as he kisses him again. There’s no hesitation, this time, no holding back; he grinds down against Pat and fucks his tongue into Pat’s mouth and it’s so much, it’s _so much_ in the best possible way. Pat’s glad that his mouth is occupied, because if he was free to talk he would probably be saying all manner of stupid breathless desperate things.

He runs his hands down Brian’s back, catches him by the hips.

“Touch me wherever you want,” Brian says, his voice low, a little rough, and, fuck, okay, he doesn’t need to be told twice. He shoves his hands up Brian’s shirt, to run his hands over his back, and Brian gives a pleased sigh at that. And Pat wants to keep doing that for ever so he can make Brian sigh like that even one more time, but also he wants to touch him everywhere else and so he compromises, keeps a hand on the small of his back but reaches down to grab his ass and drag him down against himself. And that feels so good it makes his head spin and his hips buck up against Brian and, and, _fuck._

“Brian, I — I want you really really bad but I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” Pat gets out in a rush. Brian kisses the corner of his mouth and sits up. It takes all of Pat’s willpower not to protest the sudden distance with a sad little whine.

“Okay, let’s take stock. Do you want to have sex, or would you rather keep making out like this? I’m totally happy with whatever we do, I just want you to feel comfortable. Like. I know this is new to you? And I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I’ve had sex before, Brian,” Pat says, with a wry hint of a smile. “It’s not altogether unprecedented.”

Brian leans down to kiss the tip of his nose. “Still. Is that what you want? It’s okay if you don’t, if you want to take it slower, or not at all.”

“No, I, uh. I super want that. Like, a lot. I just don’t know. How to go about it?”

Brian keeps peppering chaste little kisses all over Pat’s face. “The thing is, Pat Gill, we have lots of options,” he says, and Pat can feel him smirk against his cheek. “I can suck your dick, or eat you out, or jerk you off, or finger you, or fuck you, or you could fuck me, or —”

“Jesus Christ, Brian,” Pat says weakly. “That’s a lot of choices.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to overwhelm you —”

“No, no, it’s not _bad!_ All of that sounds — really, really good, I just don’t exactly. Know where to start.”

Brian laughs. “Okay, that’s fair. Well, alright. I did, uh, maybe a little presumptuously bring lube, so — that keeps pretty much whatever on the table.”

“Hey, well, your presumption worked out, I think.”

“True! Be prepared, and all that. See, okay, the thing is, I’m pretty much game for anything, but I don’t know what you’re comfortable with. Like, I’m super comfortable with anal stuff, like, especially since you just showered — I said I’d eat your ass, that wasn’t a joke, I totally would. But I know, uh, if you’re not used to it, that can seem a little daunting.”

“Maybe a little,” Pat agrees. “We can definitely save that, though, I’m — yeah. That’s. Yes. But I might be, uh, feeling a bit more to-the-point, right now, if that’s okay.”

“For sure! Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I, uh. Fuck.” He’s trying not to squirm, under Brian, who’s straddling his thighs calmly and comfortably as anything, even though Pat can plainly see the status of his arousal in his jeans. He feels kind of embarrassed, being so riled up like this, too flustered to really speak, when Brian seems perfectly composed. Brian lifts Pat’s hand to his mouth and presses his lips to his knuckles, and Pat takes the opportunity to break eye contact so he can actually talk. Except he keeps getting distracted imagining the different things they could do together and he can’t quite find the right words —

“Would it be easier if I suggested something, and you told me how you felt about it?”

“Yes,” Pat says, gratefully. Brian is still holding his hand. Brian looks at where their hands are linked. Considers it. Takes Pat’s hand and opens his fingers for him. Lifts Pat’s hand to his mouth, again, and pushes his index and middle fingers together, and licks a slow stripe up them, then closes his mouth (hot, wet) around his fingertips. Pat makes a choked sound, and Brian winks, pulls Pat’s fingers out of his mouth with a pop.

“Can I suck your dick?” Brian says.

“Please, god, yes,” Pat groans, and that’s all it takes for Brian to pounce on him again. He pushes his hands up Pat’s shirt and rocks his hips down against Pat’s and gets his mouth on his again. They get thoroughly distracted by that, until Pat finds he’s helplessly rutting against Brian, wanting, needing more.

“Brian,” he gasps, against his mouth, and Brian needs no more instruction than this. In a heartbeat, he moves down Pat’s body, hands already undoing his fly. Pat lifts his hips so Brian can hook his thumbs into his waistband and pull his pants and underwear off in one fell swoop. He shivers, at the sudden cold air.

Brian’s hands slide up Pat’s thighs, up to his hips. Pat’s shirt is rucked halfway up his torso, and Brian presses a kiss below Pat’s ribs, and then, indulgently, a line of kisses down to the base of Pat’s cock. Pat’s hips buck up against nothing, and Brian gives a light laugh.

“God, look at you,” Brian says. Pat’s sure he looks wrecked. Brian, on the other hand, looks devastatingly beautiful, as always. His hair is mussed and his face is flushed and his lips are red and, god, he looks so happy. He gives Pat a wicked look as he leans forward, winks — because he is incorrigible — and then licks the head of Pat’s cock, dragging the flat of his tongue over the tip, and Pat moans, his head dropping back against the pillows.

He reaches out to run a hand through Brian’s hair, to pet at the soft curls at the nape of his neck, but then Brian takes the head of his cock into his mouth and Pat doesn’t _mean_ to grab, he just needs to hold onto something, but then Brian moans around him so he guesses that’s probably okay, then, wow. He’s gentle, strokes his hands over Pat’s thighs, his hips, his belly. And his mouth is _perfect,_ hot and wet and skilled, not so much as a hint of teeth out of place.

He didn’t think it was _ever_ like this, for anyone. He didn’t expect that he’d be trying not to thrust up into Brian’s mouth and chanting his name in desperate gasps and whining and outright _begging._ He didn’t expect to thread his hands through Brian’s hair and curl up towards him as he feels himself getting close to the edge, his breathing harsh and ragged and fast as he bites out _Brian please please oh god baby I’m gonna come please Brian, oh my god, Brian_ —

Pat comes, gasping, his desperate pleas breaking off into something that’s half a sob. Brian takes it, works him through it with his clever hands, his beautiful mouth, and doesn’t pull away until Pat’s well and truly finished, until Pat pushes himself up into a sitting position and kisses the top of Brian’s head.

Brian looks up at him and grins. His eyes are sparkling and his lips are red and shiny with spit and whatever else and his cheeks are pink and Pat tugs him up to kiss him, to taste himself on Brian’s tongue.

“Pat, can you — will you — whatever you’re comfortable with, _please,”_ Brian says, breathless. Pat drops his hands to fumble with Brian’s jeans, try and get to his dick, but he doesn’t move fast enough for Brian’s taste, apparently, and Brian bats his hands out of the way to do it himself. He wiggles out of his pants and then immediately flings himself at Pat again.

Pat grabs him by the shirt collar and kisses him, licks into his mouth, reveling in the shuddery way Brian responds. It’s even better when he gets a hand around Brian’s cock and Brian moans into his mouth, his hands scrabbling at Pat, finding somewhere to cling to. Pat doesn’t bother with pretense — they have all the time in the world, to take each other apart again and again — and jerks Brian hard and fast, as Brian writhes and moans and digs his nails into Pat’s shoulders. He gasps out Pat’s name, as a warning or as a sacrament, a half-second before he comes.

“Fuck,” Brian gasps, forehead to forehead with Pat, once he’s caught his breath. He sits back a little, appraises Pat, then winces. “Oh, shit, oops. Sorry about your shirt,” he says, dragging a fingertip through his own cum where it’s landed on the front of Pat’s shirt, in a futile attempt to clean it.

Pat looks at it for a second, then takes that hand by the wrist and licks it off his fingertip, showy, performative. Brian stares at him, openmouthed, for a moment, until Pat laughs and ruins it.

“God, you are perfect, Patrick Gill, what the _fuck,”_ says Brian.

Pat grins at him and leans back so as not to hit him in the face as he pulls off his shirt. “I think the same thing of you every damn day,” he says, as he re-emerges from his shirt. He tosses it unceremoniously across the room. Who gives a fuck about a t-shirt when there’s this perfect man in his bed? “How’d I get so lucky, huh?” he says, and kisses him, slowly, just once.

“Can we just stay in bed the rest of the day? I’ll text Simone to keep them busy,” Brian says, already looking around for his phone. Pat laughs and puts his arms loosely around him.

“I’m not sure I can keep it going as long as you can,” he says. Brian raises an eyebrow, so solicitously that it makes Pat blush. “But I can, uh. I can certainly try.”

“Mhm. I thought so. Let me get my phone and take off my shirt and we can cuddle.”

 

Pat is fully prepared to squabble about who gets to be the little spoon, but Brian skips that conversation entirely by lying down facing Pat to kiss him. And then kiss him again, and again, and one more time for good measure.

“How’re you doing?” Brian asks, slinging an arm around Pat, his hand resting on the small of his back. Pat gives a pleased hum, pushes his face into Brian’s hair, holding him close, appreciating the feel of skin on skin. Brian kisses his shoulder. “Does that mean good?”

“Yes. Very,” Pat says. Brian is tracing his fingertips along Pat’s spine. Pat sighs and closes his eyes.

“I’m so glad.”

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course. Always.”

“This is gonna sound kind of silly, and is maybe a little TMI,” Pat hedges. “And you’re not allowed to say _aw Patrick_ in that sad voice, but like. I guess I’ve never. Done that, with someone I’m like, legitimately attracted to before?”

“Okay, wow, I’m not gonna say it but I am thinking it, Pat Gill.”

“Fair enough. And that’s not to say I haven’t like — had completely consenting encounters before. Because I have. I just… didn’t know it was supposed to feel like this. Attraction is so fucking confusing.”

“Like when you were with Allegra?” Brian asks, almost cautiously.

“Right. Like, she was so into it, and like, it’s not that I wasn’t, it’s just — well, I kinda wasn’t.” Brian snorts. Pat ignores him. “Basically what I’m saying is I like having sex, like, the actual act of it? Feels fuckin’ good, right, obviously. But. Like. I never totally understood why people like making out so much until I kissed Griffin —”

_“You kissed Griffin?!”_ Brian gasps, in incredulous delight. He pushes back from Pat a little to give him a big surprised grin. “Holy shit, when did you do that?”

“Man, I figured everyone knew about that by now, he mentioned it to Legs and Thomas yesterday so I assumed he was, like, talking about it. Which is fine! I don’t give a shit. I think everyone knows I’m gay now, anyway.”

“Shit, that’s wild. He’s had a massive crush on some mermaid lady for, like, ages, though?”

“Oh, it wasn’t, like, romantic. I was, uh, actually, kind of freaking out about having a crush on you? And then I was like, I’ve never even kissed a dude? Because we were kinda drunk and I say dumb shit. But he offered, just as a friend, and I accepted.”

“Okay, wow, one: that’s adorable. Two: was he a good kisser, I have to know, for science.”

Pat laughs. “I mean, I certainly enjoyed it. He offered to get me off? Which was super nice of him, although I said no because I wasn’t really sober enough to think that it was a good idea. Kinda sad I missed out in hindsight, though.” He winks, and Brian cackles.

“We should invite him over sometime,” Brian says, and winks back at him.

“Oh my _god,”_ Pat says. “Is everyone just kinda thirsty for Griffin?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Wait. Hang on a second. You said mermaids?”

Brian laughs. “Pat, really, your boyfriend is a tree. There’s gonna have to be a point where you stop being surprised by this stuff.”

“I’ll let you know when I get there,” Pat says, and kisses the corner of Brian’s mouth. “Um. What was I saying before we got distracted by Griffin?”

“Ha! Uh, I think you were probably leading up to some big revelation or something about how, like, you like me a lot and want to kiss me more, probably.”

“Yeah, I think that sums it up,” Pat says, and kisses him to emphasize the point. Lets Brian snuggle his face against his shoulder, because it’s easier to talk when he doesn’t have to make eye contact.

“Okay, but for real, I’m sorry I keep bringing this up —”

“Don’t apologize. If it’s on your mind, it’s important,” Brian says.

“I guess I’m just still trying to work through it. It’s weird, I guess, that I spent so long with, like, sexuality divorced from attraction? Like, I’ve dated women, I’ve even been in long-term-ish relationships. It’s strange to conceptualize? One of my exes was — we were best friends, which is the only reason we lasted so long. Uh, shit, is it weird for me to be talking about sex I’ve had with other people right after we did it?”

Brian laughs, but it’s kind. Affectionate. “Not at all. Don’t even worry about it. Also, I literally just implied we should have a threesome with Griffin McElroy, do not even worry about destroying the sanctity here.”

“Okay, fair point.” He smiles, though Brian can’t see his face. “But basically, I guess, it was like… we really, like, understood each other, in some way or another? As best you can when you don’t even understand yourself, anyway. And if I didn’t really like kissing, she was fine with that. There’s other ways to show affection. I never got horny from just, like, thinking about her? Ugh, that sounds weird for sure. Basically what I’m saying is that it would be mostly, like, physical things that would, uh, work better for me. Which sucks, ‘cause she was perfectly beautiful and wonderful, it was just that I could never get that switch on in the way it seemed like I was supposed to.”

Pat closes his eyes to collect his thoughts. Brian presses a light, reassuring kiss to Pat’s collarbone, which gives him the courage to continue.

“I thought I was, like, broken? For a really long time. I knew I wasn’t asexual, I definitely actively wanted to fuck, but when I actually tried to, it would take me fucking forever to get into it. I didn’t really give a shit about kissing; it felt like an obligation or something and it did basically nothing for me. But if it was just me by my own self, I didn’t have to think so hard about it, weird and counterintuitive as that might sound. But, like, it’s a lot easier if it’s like, ah shit I woke up with a boner, well best take care of that, and then it’s exclusively physical and about what feels good. Don’t have to think about anyone else, just chase the feeling. It got so much harder — well, hah, actually, usually quite a bit less hard, if you catch my meaning,” Pat says, and Brian snickers.

Pat barrels on, because if he stops for snickering every time he’ll never get through this. “— but when it got to involving things like ‘other people’ and ‘what I wanted in a partner’ and ‘what turns me on,’ I was at a complete roadblock. I didn’t really — try to imagine a partner, when I was on my own. I honestly tried really hard not to imagine anything, and if I did I still wouldn’t think up a person. Not even when I had a girlfriend. And even when I was doing stuff it was like, I always really wanted it, I wanted to make it happen, but shit’s embarrassing when you’ve got, like, a really great person who you like a lot who you’re trying to have mutually consenting sex with, except even though you really want to be into it you can’t get it up? And I was so, so awkward, Brian, oh my god. I could hardly touch a boob —”

Brian giggles.

Pat scowls at him, all bark and no bite. “Are you in middle school? Jesus.”

“Just never heard you say that before,” Brian says. “It’s a funny word, no two ways about it.”

“Dork.”

“Yeah. Sorry for interrupting, keep going,” Brian says.

“Okay. Like, I always sort of felt like I was doing something illicit? Like, oh my god, if I’m not interested in this, is she also not interested and only doing this to humor me, except I don’t want to be humored, and it was just this whole fuckin’ mess of confusing bullshit. I’d be so in my head about it the whole time that it completely took me out of the moment. But, uh. Well. As it turns out, I don’t feel that way about men at _all._ I think about touching you and it’s all I want to do. I want to make you feel good. It makes me feel good, to think about making you feel good. I want to kiss you, I want to do any goddamn thing to you that your sweet little heart desires. But — uh, sorry — you weren’t the first one.”

“I don’t know why you’re apologizing for that. I mean, you’re certainly not the first guy I’ve been into.” Brian cracks a smile.

Pat laughs. “Okay, that’s fair. But like. I’d had stray thoughts sneak in, about coworkers and friends or, uh, wrestlers or whatever, but I dismissed them so quickly and harshly and thoroughly it was like they might as well have not existed. I refused to dwell on them, at all, ever. The stupid part is, it’s not like I’ve ever been bothered if anyone else is gay. Just me. I would not entertain the concept. I’ve been with women, how could I possibly be gay! Right?” He sighs.

“But some part of me knew. It was a part I refused to even look at. But it was the part that noticed when men were attractive, when I got all flustered when a guy flirted with me — which was easy enough to write off, because I’m a shithead — but deep down I _wanted_ it. Kissing Griffin was like — a revelation. A confirmation. Like I could finally feel sure about what I want, because I’d _never_ wanted someone like that before, not from only kissing them.”

He closes his eyes and breathes a slow, remorseful exhale. “Because when I couldn’t even get it right for Legs, who I loved more than anyone I’d ever loved before in my entire life, it was like — it was like the wall keeping that part of me away finally broke down, and I couldn’t hide it anymore. Because I knew that if she was a guy — fuck, probably if basically nothing about her changed except for that she was a dude — then it would be different. And I didn’t know why. I don’t know why. Why is gender identity the specific thing upon which my attraction hinges? I have no fucking idea. But. That’s a bigger question than just me, I think.”

“Oh, man, I’m taking you back to college so you can take my queer studies classes.”

“Brian, you could not get me to go back to school if you paid me. I was a hot disaster.”

“Yeah, but now you can be a hot gay disaster? I mean, you are hot, so.”

Pat feels his ears heat up, but is too focused and perhaps too shy to respond to that last. “I think maybe if I wasn’t trying to have girlfriends I might have fared a little better, emotionally speaking, at least. God, in hindsight everything seems so obvious —“

“Don’t give yourself a hard time over that. Everyone comes into it at their own time. Yours just happened to be a little later than average, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with that. And now you can spend the rest of your life having really good sex with people you’re attracted to and anyone who thinks that’s wrong can go to hell.”

“Thank you,” Pat says, softly. “That — that genuinely means a lot to me.”

“I can’t imagine how scary it’s been to realize all this about yourself after so long. How hard it must be. But you never have to be alone in it, okay? I’m here for you. And I’ll always listen to whatever is on your mind.”

“Thank you,” he says again. “I — you too, okay? You’re — you’re really important to me. And. I want to be someone you can talk to, if you need to.”

Brian nuzzles the side of his neck. “You’re such a goddamn sap,” he says, warmly. “I like you so very much, Pat Gill. And for what it’s worth, you’re important to me too. And. You’re hot as hell.”

“Oh, well, gosh —”

“Come here and kiss me with that pretty face of yours,” Brian says.

And how can Pat say no to that? 

He kisses him, joyously, gratefully, eagerly, reveling in the feeling of the truest give-and-take he’s ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally YESTERDAY jenna made a tweet abt how she doesnt usually go for werewolf stories and i was like REALLY YOU COULDNT HAVE WAITED UNTIL I POSTED THIS CHAPTER JENNA!!!!!!  
> (shes the other worst subject of the heavy-handed foreshadowing sdkfjgshdfkg it's referenced in like Every conversation she has)
> 
> just one chapter left! thanks for sticking with this, you guys, i appreciate every single one of you. yes even you. ♥


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's short n sweet. i hope you like it ♥

Pat is totally definitely not asleep, he’s just resting his eyes, okay, _not_ asleep, when someone pounds on his bedroom door and he jumps so hard he almost falls off the bed.

“Hey, lovebirds, put some fuckin’ clothes on, everyone’s gonna meet up either at Jenna’s or here and I think you should give your permission for it to be here ‘cause I’ve dragged poor Thomas and Legs around all day and you shouldn’t make them go anywhere else today.” It’s Simone.

“Thank you for respecting my personal space and privacy and not inviting yourself and half the town over, Simone. Oh wait. Just kidding. Does anyone here even know of such a thing?” Pat says, already sitting. Brian makes a petulant sound and wraps his arms around Pat’s midsection.

“Nope! Please, Pat? I’ll make everyone bring food and everything, you’ve got all the best games, it’ll be so fun and if you don’t want to be social you can shut yourself in your room and I won’t even make fun of you,” she says.

“What d’you think?” Pat asks to sleepy-eyed Brian.

“I think it’ll be fun. Also I’m gonna sit in your lap the whole time even if your legs fall asleep because I refuse to be not cuddling you.”

“Okay, fine,” Pat says, loudly enough for Simone to hear. “But everyone has to promise they’ll leave when I kick them out.”

“Yes! Thank you, Pat, you’re the best!” she says.

“Why don’t you ever host these things?” Pat grouses at her through the closed door, gently detaching Brian from himself so he can find some clothes.

“I’m just some water, I don’t have a house!”

“You’re… just some water?”

“Naiad, dude.”

Pat groans. “Okay, is there anyone else I’m missing?” he says, glancing between the door and Brian, who looks thoroughly amused.

“Uh. Chels is fae? But, like, before you get all worried about the food and drinks at the bar, that’s a stereotype. She uses earth food for us because she’s not an asshole,” Simone says.

“Jonah’s a siren,” Brian puts in. “And he won’t help me write any music because he’s mean, even though he’s _so_ good at music theory.”

“Jesus Christ,” Pat says, pulling on a clean shirt.

“Nah, he doesn’t live here,” Brian says.

Pat drags his hands down his face and says _uuuuugggghhhhhh_ and Brian laughs at him. Pat throws a t-shirt at his face and Brian collapses dramatically, still giggling.

 

So that’s how Pat comes to find himself on the couch with Brian draped across his lap, with the majority of his friends commandeering his television. Currently, the room is in a state of chaos, because the McElroy brothers and Simone are playing _MarioKart_ and they are the loudest four people that Pat has ever met in his life.

Every chair in the house has been stolen and crammed into the living room, because _everyone_ is here. Even Chelsea, who Pat’s never had more than a cursory interaction with, is sitting on the floor with Simone as they both giggle over something Simone is showing her on her phone. Justin and Sydnee have finagled themselves into an armchair, just as snuggled up as Brian and Pat are, which is probably making it more challenging than necessary for Justin’s gameplay. Griffin, Thomas, and Legs are squished onto the couch with Pat and Brian.

It’s the most crowded Pat has ever had a place he’s lived in be. Jenna and Ashley and Laura and Jonah have dragged the kitchen chairs into the room. There’s hardly room to walk. Pat thinks it’s probably a fire hazard. It’s noisy, because everyone is talking over each other, and Simone and Travis are both caterwauling at the injustice of _MarioKart,_ and it is complete and utter chaos.

Pat has rarely felt so surrounded by love in his life.

 

Everyone’s so comfortable with each other, especially now that everyone’s magic shit is all out in the open, and they can actually talk about it instead of tiptoeing around it and making really bad and, in hindsight, extremely unsubtle puns.

“Sydnee, Pat’s looking for someone to help him get back into magic, do you know anyone?” Griffin says, as he hands over the controller to Thomas after losing his _MarioKart_ trophy. “Or know anyone who knows anyone?”

“I’m a doctor, I don’t know anything about magic,” Sydnee says, feigning haughtiness. Justin snorts. Travis gets about four words into singing “I told the witch doctor —” before he gets a pillow thrown at his face and collapses into giggles. Sydnee gives a longsuffering sigh. “I’m not even a witch.”

“Syd, you know about ten thousand percent more about magic than I do,” Justin says. “Or, like, anyone, probably.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, fine,” she says, appeased by her husband’s flattery. “Patrick, you’re a straightforward witch, right? Human otherwise?”

“As far as I’m aware,” Pat says, eyebrows raised.

“You’d probably know if you weren’t,” Sydnee says. “We all do magic pretty differently. For example, a lot of non-human beings have a far easier time tapping into innate magic than humans do. While everyone has some amount of innate magic, generally human witches use exterior sources for it — correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve got a storeroom full of magic supplies down the hall?”

“Yeah. That’s a fun trick, Griffin showed off with that too, the first time he came over,” Pat says.

Sydnee laughs. “Fair enough. It’s a quick enough way to prove the point, though. Along with the fact that everyone who lives here knew you were a witch before they so much as knew your name.”

Pat sighs. “It would have been nice if someone had let me in on that knowledge a little sooner, so I didn’t look like a giant nerd trying to keep it a secret.”

“You’re also super not sneaky,” Brian says.

“I can’t speak to that, I showed up late to the party and Griffin introduced Pat to me as the new witch in town,” Sydnee says. “The fact remains that most of us would have a very difficult time trying to teach you how to do magic. For example, most selkies have a natural inclination towards healing and minor ocean- and weather-related skills, like predicting the weather.”

“That sounds like at least one of those would be helpful in your career,” Legs says.

“It definitely is! Though I still did go to medical school, just like anyone else.”

“Griffin has a really annoying tendency to give us a weather forecast every morning, even though we all know perfectly well what the day is going to bring,” Travis says.

“It is not annoying,” Griffin huffs.

“It’s super annoying,” Justin confirms.

“Stop interrupting her! This is interesting,” Simone says. “I just turn into water, mostly.”

“I think you have a lot more going for you than that. Brian and Laura, too. I would expect all three of you to have an easier time changing the shape of any type of matter, because that’s the same — flavor? — of magic that you use in your everyday. And I bet you are quite skilled at manipulating water, Simone,” Sydnee says.

Simone opens her mouth, and Jenna interrupts her by saying, “if you make a joke about making people wet I swear to _god_ —” and Simone bursts out laughing.

Sydnee watches them, amused, and then says, “My point is, Pat, since the impetus of your magic is mostly external, it would probably help most to learn from someone whose methods of magic are structured similarly. I can keep an ear out — all of us can — but I’m not sure if I know any one person off the top of my head that would necessarily be the help to you that you need. But! I’m sure, between our various talents, we can pool our resources and get you started, at least?”

“That’s — that’s really nice of you,” Pat says.

“Why wouldn’t we help?” Justin puts in, leaning his head against Sydnee’s shoulder. “We’re stuck with you, so we might as well make you useful.” He’s grinning, though, clearly teasing.

“Thanks, Justin,” Pat says, dryly, but he’s smiling too.

 

By the time it’s so late that it’s early, there’s only a handful of them still left. Pat is not as kind as Ashley, and also doesn’t have enough places for Legs and Thomas _and_ any other sleepy friends to camp out, so once people start to look like they’re going to fall asleep it becomes officially time for them to go home. Simone complains very loudly about this unjust development, to which Pat maturely responds by sticking his tongue out at her.

“You were the one who invited everyone to my house, not me,” he points out.

“I _guess.”_

Jenna has to leave around midnight, so as not to turn wolfy around anyone. It’s not, she says, dangerous, but it’s doubtful Charlie would enjoy it. Ashley leaves with her, because they like to hang out as canines — they call it walking the dogs, which Pat is incredibly tickled by.

By about three in the morning, the remaining crew is fairly delirious from lack of sleep. Even with about half of the crowd leaving, it’s still pretty crowded: Griffin, Simone, the two Gilberts, Jonah, and of course Legs and Thomas. Simone is sitting upside-down on the armchair, her head hanging off the front where her legs should be, her legs hooked over the headrest. It does not look very comfortable.

“Simone, that does not look very comfortable,” Pat says.

“It’s not,” she says. “I think all my blood is in my head.”

“So move?” Legs says.

“Now, why,” Simone says, already starting to sit up properly, “would I ever do something sensible like that?”

So that’s pretty much where they’re all at.

“Bri, you should probably go back to the tree for the night,” Laura says. “You’re already kind of pushing it by being out at all today.”

Brian turns his truly spectacular pout on Laura, who remains completely impassive and immune. Such is the older sibling privilege.

“I don’t care how cute you and Pat are, you still have to take care of yourself,” she says, poking Brian in the arm. “Build him a nest or something so he can sleep over with you, I don’t care, but you have to come back every night for, like, the next week or else I will carry you there myself.”

“Oh my god, please build him a nest, that is the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard,” Legs says. “Wait. Pat. Oh my god. I’ve never actually seen you be a bird in person.”

Pat heaves a dramatic sigh. He doesn’t want to move, because he has his arms around Brian’s waist and Brian’s head tucked against the side of his neck and it is so cozy and comfortable and he likes it so very much.

“You’re gonna tell me I’m cute and pet my feathers and it will be so humiliating,” Pat complains, but Brian is already moving away to give him space to demonstrate his one real trick, so, fine, if he doesn’t get to cuddle him anyway, he supposes he might as well.

Legs watches him with wide, interested eyes as one second he is sitting on the couch as a man and in the next moment, he is standing on the couch cushion as a crow.

“Oh my god!” she says, excitedly. Griffin is snickering, from across the room, and Pat gives him his best beady-eyed look, barring the fact that he does not have a wide range of facial expressions. “That’s so freaking cool,” she says. Pat hops over Brian’s and Thomas’s laps to let her prod at him.

It’s — surprisingly fun, actually, to fly a lap around the room when Simone asks him to, and spread his wings so Thomas can inspect his feathers, and land on Griffin’s head to make him laugh and mess up his hair, and demonstrate his range of caws for Jonah. And when he’s done, he can change back into himself sprawled dramatically on the couch, with his top half on Brian’s lap and his legs across Thomas’s lap.

Brian runs his fingers through Pat’s hair and Pat pushes his face against Brian’s chest. He’s spent the entirety of his day right up against Brian, and he really doesn’t want that to change. Huh. He might be a little clingy. That’s an interesting development. Brian kisses the top of Pat’s head.

“I’ll come over tomorrow, okay?” Brian murmurs into his hair.

“Still inviting yourself over, I see,” Pat says, tilting his head up to grin at him. Brian steals a quick kiss, and Pat feels himself blushing.

“Never gonna stop,” he says cheerfully.

“You’re lucky I like you so much.”

“Aw, Pat! I’m flattered,” Simone says.

“Shut up, I wasn’t talking to you,” Pat says.

“You did let us all into your house uninvited!” Laura points out. “I think you actually secretly do like all of us.”

Pat sighs. Shakes his head fondly. He can’t keep from smiling. “I don’t think that’s a secret, really,” he says. “But fine, yeah, I guess my plausible deniability’s gone.”

“Wow, that’s downright sappy for you, Pat,” Legs says.

“I changed my mind, I don’t like any of you and you’re all kicked out of my house. Sorry, Legs, you have to go sleep in a tree now.”

“Simone’ll let me stay over, she likes me,” Legs says.

“I have some bad news for you,” Simone says. “I live in the ocean.”

“God dammit! Who will save me?” Legs looks plaintively around the room, to no volunteers.

“Bad luck, you’ve wound up in a group of weird magic beings who don’t have houses,” Jonah says.

“Maybe all the statistics about millennials not buying houses are made up,” Thomas posits. “Maybe you guys are all skewing the statistics.”

“Nah, I think that that’s still definitely a widespread economic issue,” Brian says.

“Okay, okay, everyone is now officially double kicked out, we are _not_ talking about economics in my house at three in the morning,” Pat says, and Brian laughs.

So everyone slowly makes their departures. Griffin and Simone and Jonah, given that they all live in, on, or around the sea — Pat’s not really exactly sure how all that works when it comes down to it — head off together in the same direction, and Laura takes one look at Pat and Brian and heads for the door.

“If you’re not home in an hour, Bri —”

“Oh my god, okay! I’ll be there, I promise!”

She makes a face at him; he makes a face back at her, and then she leaves, too.

So then it’s just the four of them again. Allegra prods Pat’s ankle. “Go walk your boyfriend home, Patrick.”

“Wh —”

“Yeah, Patrick, go walk your boyfriend home,” Brian says, and kisses Pat’s temple. Pat can feel him smiling right next to his face. And, well. There’s no way at all that he can say no to that.

Pat gets up, then points sternly at Legs and Thomas. “Don’t get up to too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Legs winks at him. Pat sighs at her. Brian tugs at his arm. Thomas gives them a peace sign as they leave.

So, like, yeah, they’re not ten steps into the forest when Brian shoves Pat up against a tree to kiss him, hot and slow and needy. Pat grabs him by the waist and holds him close, and then a thought occurs to him.

“Uh. This tree isn’t anyone you know, right?”

“Patrick. Come _on._ Not every tree is a dryad. And I would not be so rude, thank you very much! Quit killing the moment and kiss me, I haven’t been able to do this in _hours.”_

Pat quits killing the moment and kisses him, inwardly feeling very vindicated that Brian may, actually, possibly, be feeling as clingy as he himself is.

They’re both too exhausted to keep at it for long, even though Brian makes such lovely sweet sounds when Pat does something he likes even when they’re only kissing, and even though Brian palms Pat through his jeans and it feels really good even though there is absolutely no way he’d be able to follow through with that without _dying_ after the way they spent the whole entire afternoon, and even though Pat takes the opportunity to push Brian’s shirt collar aside and suck a bruise into his collarbone — even aside from all that, they somehow manage to tear themselves apart and walk the rest of the way back to the dryad grove holding hands like very well-behaved young men who definitely not even once entertained the idea of fucking in the woods, nope, not them, definitely not!

 

It’s quiet, in the grove. There’s only the sound of the wind whispering through the leaves, of their feet crunching through the debris on the ground as they approach Brian’s tree. Brian glances around, then leans up to give Pat a quick, chaste, almost shy kiss.

“Good night, Pat. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Brian,” Pat says. He can’t stop smiling, at the remarkably tender look on Brian’s face as he lets go of Pat’s hand, as he watches Brian fade into his tree.

He figures it can’t possibly hurt, to rest a moment on one of Brian’s branches before he flies home. It certainly can’t hurt for that moment of rest to take place in this mysteriously convenient bundle of leaves and twigs settled in the junction between two branches. It’s clear out, tonight, following the falls and falls of rain they’ve had lately.

And, well, if he tucks his head beneath his wing and settles down to sleep here, who’s to tell? Certainly Legs and Thomas won’t mind having Pat’s house to themselves for the night. Maybe he should’ve texted them to tell them he wasn’t coming back, but — oh, who cares, they’ll figure it out.

There is a distant howl through the stillness of the night. Pat wonders if it’s Jenna. Much closer is the sound of crickets, chirping again now that there aren’t people walking around. The leaves around him rustle in the light early-summer breeze. The air smells like the sea and tastes like salt. The sun will start to rise in only a few hours; it is very late, after all.

Right now, though, all he needs in the world is to close his eyes and let the sounds of the forest lull him to sleep.

He might not know what his future holds; he might not know very much at all, given his track record at predicting the arc of his life. But he knows this much, now: he knows that he’s been granted a chance to be seen for who he is, and to be loved for it.

For the first time in his life, he finally thinks he might be ready, to give and accept this gift. Tomorrow, he will get to hold Brian close and see him smile. He’ll get to see his best friends in the whole world, the ones he’s just made and the ones he’s had for much longer.

So, yeah, fine, things might not be exactly how he planned them.

But he’s starting to think that he might be able to find, in this new home, a life where he looks forward to waking up in the morning. Where he may not be perfect — may in fact be quite far from it — but where the people around him are there to support him and love him anyway.

Where Brian will hold his hand, and his friends will tease him for being ridiculous, and underneath it all, he will know that he doesn’t have to be so alone and so scared again, just as they will never have to be with him around.

Out of all the things he hoped for, he very genuinely never expected this. He can’t say he ever imagined that he’d be falling asleep in the tree that houses his boyfriend’s soul.

But gosh, is he ever grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS EVERYONE SO, SO VERY MUCH FOR ALL YOUR KINDNESS AND SUPPORT THROUGH THIS GAY JOURNEY THROUGH THE WOODS!  
> this fic would NOT be what it is without lilacsandlostlovers letting me yell about trees so THANK YOU, SO MUCH, FOR YOUR FRIENDSHIP AND FOR PUTTING UP WITH MY YELLIN; and thank you to all the other nerds on twitter and discord and in the comments who keep goading me into more gay nonsense!! I APPRECIATE YOU VERY MUCH
> 
> also: while the main fic is complete, i KNOW this won't be the last thing in the series. i've got a couple other things in the works -- i'm very attached to this au! so keep stayin' tuned. in addition, i have another longfic that's getting close to being ready to post. it's a big genre shift, but i'm super excited about it.  
> im kinda sappy but this is the first major project i've ever completed so !!!!! im very proud of it and im very grateful for everyone's kudos and comments. your words really truly mean the world to me. thank you so much ♥
> 
> finally, one last little gift: a playlist for this fic that i made!  
> [AS THE CROW FLIES](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/48G9EvnN82CRiE3hoTMYDU?si=HmCjrhQWReiemQHq91Kunw)

**Author's Note:**

> i would like to thank [this tweet](https://twitter.com/Pizza_Suplex/status/973238596445536256) for fully and entirely inspiring this story
> 
> i can be found @segmentcalled on twitter. please comment here if you req letting me know who you are, or else i'll just ignore it rip
> 
> other fun facts!:  
> -this fic is FINISHED, barring any last-minute edits i make while posting lol. this means a REGULAR UPDATE SCHEDULE! i would expect chapters every other day. ;)  
> -i spend too much time on youtube so there is an incredibly gratuitous number of references to random shit that's been mentioned on streams or games that have been played. that said, however, i do take a TON of liberties with other things and random """facts"""/character traits, so, like, don't take anything literally, because none of it is meant to be literal in the first place. in the end it's all entirely fiction, just with some familiar-looking faces. ahem. all resemblances coincidental etc etc --  
> -buckle up, y'all, this one's a great big ol' slowburn.  
> -comments are moderated as always so lmk if you don't want me to post yours!
> 
> and!!!!! the WONDERFUL AMAZING KEEPITQUICK HAS DRAWN [THE MOST INCREDIBLY BEAUTIFUL FANART FOR THIS FIC](https://keepitquick.tumblr.com/post/186249561168/a-tree-for-as-the-crow-flies-which-just-wrapped) you should ADMIRE IT!!! SUCH TALENT

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Selkie Bride](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20068165) by Anonymous 
  * [Counting Rings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251171) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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